


the asphyxiation of asphodels

by 234am



Series: The Backburner [2]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Ensemble Cast, Grief/Mourning, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Character, Older Characters, Post-Canon, Relationship Issues, The Bad Timeline, Trans Male Character, Transformation, Turk Vincent Valentine, shelved work, starts with a funeral, subverted Hanahaki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/234am/pseuds/234am
Summary: The death of a friend prompts Vincent to finally shake off the lethargy and reach out to his loved ones but is it too late for reconciliation?





	1. coming to the end

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags and let me know if I need to tag for anything else. This is going to be a rough one full of angst and body horror.
> 
> EDIT: This series is in my backburner collection, which means that is being uploaded for archival purposes only. It's a rough draft, and I do not know if I'll finish it. Please do not pester me with demands for updates or fixes.

**[0023 · 04 · 15]**

Oppressive grey clouds bore down on the cemetery. A thick curtain of rain drowned out the prayers and farewells of those gathered. The line of people stepping up to toss a handful of mud, a flower, or some small keepsake into the hole never seemed to end.

Vincent was to the right of the hole as was proper for the right hand of the man being lowered into it. To their left, a woman they couldn't stand delicately dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief as she bravely endured the onslaught of well-wishes from relatives. A bored teenage boy fidgeted next to her, barely holding the umbrella up so that her shoulder became soaked.

To the right, Reeve stood a little ways away, prim and proper but apart from the rest of the crowd. His presence was purely for appearances, as the paparazzi lurked just beyond the police line down the hill. The cool, suspicious glances of the two WRO agents watching Reeve's back made Vincent's skin crawl.

None of the other former members of AVALANCHE were present. Either they didn't care or didn't know about how much the deceased had done to help them.

Across the hole, the ranks of people who never stopped wearing suits made up two long lines, shoulder to shoulder. For today alone, they were not on duty, yet that did not keep them from forming ranks around their employer, out of place in black, and their leader, who looked weary enough to climb into the grave. They were the ones who knew the deceased best but they kept their grief to themselves.

Not like the cluster of family and personal friends carrying on at the foot of the grave. Vincent wished they would stop.

 _"Don't get caught up in that maudlin shit,"_ Veld would have said, his voice rusty and thick from the toll of being the first and likely last Turk to make it to old age, not just in mind but in body. _"Fuck the shitshow and go home, drink a bottle for me."_

But no, that wasn't really right. Even as his years long battle against a terminal disease became a losing one, Veld had been a cool customer. It was _Cid_ who swore like that. Cid who tried to bully Vincent into being better--and almost succeeded.

Thinking about Cid hurt like claws rending through the tender flesh of their heart. It never eased, even years later. It just got worse.

It hurt more than knowing they would not clock in the next day and hear Veld's voice on the line, feeding them insider's information on the target that no one else ever seemed to have. The man might have retired years ago but he had a head for secrets.

He knew about the raw, bloody feelings Vincent harbored for Cid. He never tried to force Vincent to deal with it but always gave them sour, knowing looks and an extra shot of whatever garbage they were drinking that day.

The family asked Vincent if they wanted to say anything at the funeral. They didn't think it appropriate to divulge that Veld's favorite pastimes in his later years had been seeing how long he could evade his honorary guard before they sent Vincent to find him and then to test how much alcohol would interfere with his medication and how much Vincent could imbibe without effect.

Vincent's left hand twinged and the fingers trembled. Stone-faced, they discreetly shifted the handle of the umbrella to their other hand and shoved the left into their pocket.

Their fingers closed around the solid weight of their phone. The urge to call someone rose in the back of their throat as a physical lump of bile and undercooked hash browns. They didn't know who they would call. They had no family to speak of and the rift between themself and Cid had driven the others away.

No one but Cid would understand, anyway. Even Cid hadn't, really, when it came down to it.

For a ragtag group of nobodies rebelling against the system, the idea of needing the suit, of needing uniformity, and of needing a sense of belonging from those things was an alienating betrayal.

 _"You canned those worms,"_ Veld muttered at the back of Vincent's skull.

Vincent clutched tightly at their phone for a second, then released it. They exhaled through their nose.

 _Yeah,_ they thought, as rueful as if they were saying it to the man himself. _I did._

Finally, the long line of grieving people came to an end. The woman and her son moved to the foot of the grave to say their piece. Vincent stared somewhere off to her left, gaze unfocused, until the muffled murmur of her voice faded.

The very second it ended, Reeve nodded politely at Vincent before departing. Vincent waited until Tseng pulled away from the pack and flicked his fingers in dismissal, then they too left the maudlin shitshow behind.

As Vincent climbed into their battered sports car, they watched the procession of Turks file out of the graveyard to their vehicles. They recalled how Veld used to joke, _"It's a lucky thing you disappeared, else you'd have been stuck herding those fools until your end of days."_

"Until _theirs,_ " Vincent corrected.

They smacked the glove box open and caught the bottle of pills that bounced out. After downing two dry and returning the bottle to the glovebox, they snagged a cigarette from under the passenger's seat and thumbed the dash lighter to warm it.

 _"Those things'll kill you,"_ Cid's voice now, wry because he was seconds from asking for one.

"Nah, Chief, you're supposed to quit."

The dash lighter popped. Vincent touched it to the tip of their cigarette and puffed until it took. They wondered if Cid ever succeeded on quitting, or if he fell off the wagon like Veld and his alcohol. Frowning, they slammed the lighter back in place.

Didn't matter anyway. The only time Cid was ever going to talk to them was in their head.

Though Vincent was one of the first to leave the graveside, it looked like they would be one of the last to leave the cemetery. They toyed with their cigarette as all the other cars pulled out in ones and twos.

The woman and her son crossed in front of Vincent's car. She noticed them through the windshield and hesitated.

"The maudlin shitshow is coming my way, Moss," Vincent murmured.

Veld grumbled right back: _"Be nice."_

After sending her son on towards her van with the keys, she rounded Vincent's car to knock on the passenger side window. Exhaling smoke through their nose, Vincent leaned over to pop the lock. They did not open the door for her. There was no need-- she opened it and climbed in right away, as if concerned they might change their mind.

"Mr. Valentine."

"Miss Elfé."

"You know that's not my name anymore."

 _"Once a Turk, always a Turk,"_ Veld said, because he'd never given his real name and Vincent had never asked. It was in the files and on his tombstone but between old friends, it was rude to utilize confidential information like that.

Vincent said nothing.

"Do you mind?" Elfé waved her hand in front of her nose, frowning.

"Yeah."

Her frown grew; she rolled the window down in hard jerks. Vincent opened their mouth to protest but too late. The window clunked and slid out of place, clattering down into the depths of the door. Since Cid, they'd never gotten around to letting anyone else touch the car. Almost thirteen years without maintenance left a few things in a wretched state, not unlike themself.

The sound of the rain filled the car, as did a healthy dose of it, splattering Elfé's already soaked shoulder and the seats.

"Oh," she said, like it was happening to someone else, "That's unfortunate."

"Hn."

"Listen, Mr. Valentine, you were the closest to him."

"Mx." Vincent yanked the ashtray open and stowed their half-finished cigarette. Their hands were shaking too much to finish it. The tip continued to burn. "We weren't." They took a breath. "Whatever you may have heard."

Her voice went stiff and cold. "I'm not implying anything but friendship."

"Is that so."

"Mhm. I wanted to invite you to the reception. He had good friends, like-minded people you'd probably get along with. People your age."

They made a wheezing sound like a death rattle.

Elfé offered a small, awkward smile, as though she were in on the joke. Maybe she was--she was only forty but looked like she was sixty, all because of the company.

 _"Wasn't their fault,"_ Veld started to say. _"It was--"_

A little more harshly than they intended, Vincent blurted, "No." It almost drowned out the sound of Cid shouting, _" **Fuck** that!"_

Her expression closed up--polite, cold, distant again. "If that's how you want it. I did my part here."

The rage that boiled up their throat and against the backs of their teeth never made it out as anything but smoke. She did not notice, for she was already climbing out of the car as soon as she finished speaking.

Vincent put their head low lest she see their eyes. They shoved their clawed hands under their arms and hugged themself tightly until the tremors faded. It didn't matter what their form wanted to be--Galian, the Hellmasker, or the other, most hated one--they _needed_ it to stay human.

The imaginary Cid that lived in their head ranted for a while, spitting out a litany of swears only half as colorful as what the man himself could have come up with.

"Oh," she said, suddenly reappearing at the open window. "He left you this."

Vincent jerked their head up and cast a wild glance at the rearview mirror. Their eyes were red and mostly unchanged. Relieved, they glanced her way, just in time to see a key with a large green fob hit the wet seat.

"But that's--"

"It's yours, he insisted. If you decide you don't want it, you know my address."

"...Alright."

Elfé thumped her hand atop the roof of the car as she straightened with the slightest nod. Then she squared her shoulders and marched across the parking lot like the former child soldier she was. She did not look back. Almost as soon as she got into her van, she started it up and pulled out of the parking lot. Probably she had a lot of very important geriatric guests to catch up to before they choked down all the cocktail wieners at the reception.

_"Classy, Valentine."_

Vincent couldn't tell which of their imaginary voices said it. It probably didn't matter.

They grabbed the cigarette, tapped the ashes off, and took one last pull before stubbing it out. Then they started the car and left the parking lot. They drove slowly and took back alleys and quiet residential streets on their way out from Edge.

"Thought you said you wanted to be buried near Kalm."

No answer from Veld, who was dead, or his poor imitation, who was not real.

Only after leaving the city line behind did Vincent fish their phone out. They still had a well-abused flip phone with physical buttons because they kept breaking the new ones by pressing too hard on unresponsive screens. Elena said it was because they refused to take their gloves off. Physical buttons were better anyway, they thought.

She was the one to answer back at the office. "Hello, Valentine. What's up?"

"Going to take those days off."

"How many?"

"I was offered two weeks."

"Okay." There was a pause; Vincent faintly heard the clack of computer keys. "Done. Anything else?"

"No."

"Sure. You've got my personal."

Vincent glanced sidelong at a sign telling them that Kalm was a little over thirty miles out. They knew it was Elena's way to offer support without pressuring them. "Thanks."

"See you later, alligator."

"After a while, crocodile," they agreed, soft, as they hung up.

The other Turks--especially Reno--would be blowing up their phone soon. The younger suits all expected them to clock in and continue on as usual. Somehow, they were probably supposed to be the same focused killing machine who could carry out executions without batting a lid and then go back to the office to type up a neat little report with color coded tabs and a carefully encrypted usb dongle containing all video and photographic evidence needed as if the job were white collar.

They flicked the silence switch on the side of the phone and almost tossed it into the passenger seat before they remembered the rain soaking everything. Sighing, they shoved it back into their pocket.

The drive out to Kalm was quiet and boring. Halfway out, the rain quit but the sky stayed gloomy.

Vincent drummed their fingers against the wheel but refused to turn on the radio or try to rouse their thoughts from the slow slide into apathy. They kept glancing over at the key fob on the passenger seat like it was an unwanted passenger. A venomous one, waiting for them to let their guard down.

They drove into Kalm and stopped for gas and a couple days worth of groceries from the town's original general store. It felt good to be in a place older than them. They could remember when it was a malt bar and pharmacy.

Kalm itself had tripled in size in the last ten years. Veld had often complained of it, citing hooligans and city slickers as the foremost cause of the town's descent into the hip and trendy. Even though they were a recluse themself, Vincent always found the outrage over the artsy turn the town's culture had taken amusing. Even on damp days, people roamed up and down main, browsing galleries and cafes, record stores and bong shops, and all the rest.

If they recalled correctly, ShinRa built an agricultural college nearby. Post Meteor, everyone scrambled to learn how to be self-sufficient, especially the hipsters who no longer had the wherewithal to mooch off their parents.

They wouldn't be immersing themself in the town, anyway. Their destination lay about ten miles out, up in the mountains.

It started drizzling almost as soon as they reached the narrow, winding mountain roads. Vincent slowed down because they knew from experience that the locals preferred to take the sharp turns and steep hills at breakneck speeds. They only passed one rusty old truck, which roared by and almost clipped their side view mirror.

Veld had a tiny cabin tucked back in the trees, overlooking a lake. With the weather, the lake looked pitch black. A couple of boats floated out there, little rowboats no doubt carrying stubborn fishers.

Vincent pulled up to the cabin and shut the engine off. They listened to it ticking as it cooled and they stared at the place where Veld spent most of his last years. Veld would have hated how quiet and dark it was. He would have stumped around turning on all the lights and if Vincent said anything about the waste of electricity, he'd say some pithy thing about it being his retirement fund.

Vincent got out. The bang of the car door echoed like a gunshot, startling nearby birds. It felt sacrilegious to disturb the silence.

They went around to collect the key fob through the passenger window, then got the bags of groceries and their overnight bag from the backseat. As they approached the front door, they half expected Veld to yank it open and gruffly welcome them inside.

"Just like old times," they muttered under their breath as they unlocked the door.

No one was there and no one ever would be unless they turned it over to someone else. They tried to imagine Elfé there, stumping around the indefensible parameter. It didn't fit. They couldn't bear the thought of her spoiled teenage boy desecrating the place with weed and junk food wrappers.

It was dark inside and a thin layer of dust covered everything. Veld had spent his last year in and out of the hospital and Elfé insisted he stay with her until the doctors advised a permanent residence at a hospice. It was an undignified way to go but Veld stopped being aware of it a month in.

Vincent tossed the key fob into the chipped green bowl on the table to the left of the door. They dropped their overnight bag under the table. Then they turned and locked all ten of the locks on the door one-handedly, finishing with the two deadlocks and chain.

Only then did they walk through the cabin turning on the lights as they went. There were four rooms on the first floor-- an open space living room and kitchen, the pantry, the bath and privy, and the bedroom. Stairs led up to a smaller two room space, divided between a guest room and the attic storage. 

From the guest bedroom's window, they could see the little shed out back and the long neglected upraised garden boxes. Someone could make a go of it out there, like Veld had for years.

But not them.

They had their chance to get out and live a quiet life in retirement. They threw it away for the safety of the familiar weight of a gun strapped beneath their suit jacket.

The dust scratched at the back of their throat. They coughed into their gloved fist, hard and loud and shaking. It left their lungs twinging with every deep breath and their throat feeling raw and tender. They wiped the spittle off onto a red handkerchief.

After cracking the window, Vincent headed back downstairs to do the same to the rest of the rooms. They paused in the middle of the central room, eyes locked on the thing sitting on the counter dividing the kitchen from the living room.

Vincent approached it as cautiously as they would a wild animal. It was an ultra thin silver laptop. A yellow sticky note with Veld's handwriting clung to the casing.

"What have you got for me."

 _Moss and_ , the note read. Beneath that, _1975_.

Veld's puzzles were usually deep rabbit holes that could take hours or days to crack. Vincent left the laptop where it was and went to put their groceries away. They found long abandoned bottles of condiments rotting in the fridge and quickly disposed of them. The large freezer in the pantry contained a charming heap of freezer burnt meat, which they decided to leave alone for the time being.

They rummaged through the cupboards for Veld's tea kettle. It was an ugly dented thing, shaped vaguely like a chocobo chick. The original paint had long since worn off. Vincent recalled stealing the thing to repaint it. Veld made fun of the droopy, lopsided eyes, his usual stiff expression just a little softer.

Of course, the man almost never used it for tea. The inside was stained from instant coffee. No matter how much Vincent scrubbed it, they couldn't get it any cleaner. They resigned themself to tea that tasted strongly of old, cheap coffee.

As always, their inner Cid voice chimed in when they poured out a cup. _"Didn't figure ya for a tea person, Vince. Ya gettin' sentimental on me?"_

"No." Vincent lifted the cup to inhale the steam. It eased some of the lingering sting in their throat. "I'm practicing."

_"For what, a tea party with your Turk buddies? The Queen of Wutai ain't invitin' your ass over nomores."_

Vincent snorted. "It's just politics."

Cid had no answer for that.

"Can't invite the hired assassin to the royal palace," Vincent clarified.

Still nothing.

Vincent took a sip of the tea. It was scalding hot and somehow bitter yet watery. In other words, a disappointing travesty.

They thought they heard Cid's raucous laughter coming from behind them. Gripping their gun without drawing, they glanced behind them. They found only the stovetop and the goofy chocobo kettle staring at them from the warmer. Sighing, they went over to turn the kettle's face away.

Then they finally rounded the counter to perch on one of the stools. They set their tea cup on a cork coaster because they didn't care to find out if their inner Veld would be as fussy and grouchy about it as the real thing.

Peeling the sticky note from the laptop, Vincent opened it. It did not power on when they pressed the button. The power cable lay in a neat coil nearby, not plugged in. Vincent stuck the note to the edge of the coaster, then went through the motions of plugging the laptop in. The little orange light on the side of the device flicked on but it still refused to power on for another five minutes.

Vincent filled the time sipping at their tea and racking their brain for what the clue could mean. Their father died in '75 but it had little to do with Veld's nickname-- or their own, if that was what came after _and_. The nicknames were from their early years of being partners. Moss had been their way of disparaging a man they thought acted too slow, like a sloth gathering moss as it hung around watching the world pass it by. They'd been Dog, barking up all the wrong trees and chasing their own tail.

No, nothing interesting happened in '75. They grieved their father's passing in short order and then they had gone right back to work like usual. The promotion, Vincent's exile to Nibelheim, and the Jenova project all came two years later.

When the laptop finally powered up, the lock screen was, at a glance, utterly unhelpful. The password hint showed only a single question mark. The background was of a starry sky, with one constellation taking up the entire right and bottom halves of the screen. It took them a second to place it as the Wanderer, who sailed the stars in search of knowledge.

It was best viewed early in the year, making it a February birth sign.

Vincent sighed. "Oh."

They tried Cid's name, to no avail. They tried variations of _Moss and Cid 1975_ , too.

The laptop prompted them for a photo for its facial recognition software to ensure they weren't a thief trying to break in. Apparently Veld had set it up to recognize them, as it said, _User Dog confirmed,_ and returned them to the login screen.

"Couldn't have let me in on my good looks?"

On a last ditch effort, they tried _Chief_. Surprisingly, that worked.

The desktop was bare except for a single folder, titled _FB11-22_. Vincent clicked on it, then navigated through a labyrinth of encrypted and hidden files. It took them the entire pot of tea and a package of crackers to finally reach pay dirt.

They stared at eleven years of work--photographs, video, and documents all painstakingly compiled and sorted. Veld put it together but Vincent was the one to gather it all, without realizing why.

Now they knew.

Vincent pulled their phone out. Numbly, they dialed a number they had not used in thirteen years. They held their breath as they listened to the line ring, praying that it still belonged to the same person but that it wouldn't be answered.

The line clicked. Silence on the other end for a long moment but for the faint chatter of a television.

Then a painfully familiar gruff voice said, "Yeah? Who's callin'."

"...Chief."


	2. another summer's promise

**[0023 · 04 · 17]**

Aside from a new coat of paint, the Seventh Heaven looked much the same as it did at its founding. However, the neighborhood changed around it through the years. It no longer looked like a scrappy, gray slice of the Midgar slums recreated. Nice little shops with flowers out front lined the streets. They blended seamlessly with the residential buildings further down.

Vincent sat in their car across the street and halfway down the block, trying and failing to work themself up to getting out. They rested their forehead against the steering wheel and breathed in slow and deep.

The laptop lay in a waterproof bag in the passenger seat. They kept glancing that way to confirm it was still there. The neighborhood might have shaped up but they could never shake the long ingrained feeling that pickpockets were lurking at every corner. The window was still broken-- all it would take was a moment of lapsed attention.

Lifting their head, Vincent gazed at the Seventh Heaven's sign. They picked out the somewhat faded silver handprints they and the others had put on it, like little stars. Little pieces of Tifa's idea of heaven: a huge found family to call her own.

When they made their choice to return to the Turks, Vincent split their friend group right down the middle. Tifa was one of the ones who supported their decision, even if she didn't agree with the things the Turks did. She cautioned them that Shinra was not to be trusted but counted on them to do right by the planet and its people. They didn't think they deserved that faith. Still, they'd done what they could, refusing to take jobs that went totally against her code of ethics, murder aside.

Unfortunately, as relationships among their friend group evolved, it became harder and harder for Vincent to justify coming around for a visit. Tifa and Aerith got married back in 2012. Aerith's disapproval of Vincent's lifestyle put a strain on the two women's marriage, so they fell out of touch and told themself it was for Tifa's sake.

Tifa still sent them monthly emails full of updates and photos, undeterred by their silence. She persisted as if everything would work out between them.

That was why, when Cid hung up on them, Vincent made a beeline for the Seventh Heaven. As soon as they managed to talk themself into making the drive, anyway.

Their internal voices had been silent ever since the resounding click of the phone being hung up. Not even their own voice had piped in. Their head felt stuffed full of fog, thoughts distant and uninteresting.

Vincent remembered sitting there in numb silence for almost an hour, even though they knew it was coming. Then they tried to call again and again but Cid never picked up and it was getting late and the frantic, needy desperation to just _tell him_ what Veld had done--but not being able to because they were a loathsome wretch that had fucked everything up and they didn't deserve the chance to make it right--had gouged out too many holes in their gut and heart. They'd ended the night hunched over the toilet, coughing up all the crappy tea and some questionable lumps that might have been their half-digested breakfast.

As if thinking about it was enough to conjure the feeling all over again, the back of their neck prickled with heat and their lungs twinged. Vincent pulled the handkerchief from their front pocket and smothered a coughing fit in it.

A shadow fell over them. Vincent tried and failed to stem the fit. Wheezing through ragged coughs, they looked up to find a young woman watching them through the window, her fingers raised to tap on it. She had dark hair in a braided bun tied with ribbons and dark eyes full of concern. The strap of a bookbag crossed over her knitted turtleneck shirt.

Vincent spat up a globful of spit. It felt like loosening something half solid that had been wedged in their throat. They folded the handkerchief up and stuffed it into the ashtray without looking at its contents.

Then they snagged the laptop bag as they opened the car door. "Marlene."

"Vincent." She smiled but it was strained. "Are you okay?"

Vincent got out of the car and bumped the door shut with their hip. "It's nothing."

Nodding, Marlene rubbed her thumb along the strap of her bag. She took after Tifa in her complete lack of judgment, though she had every reason to follow in her father's footsteps instead. "Are you coming over?"

"Yeah." Vincent cleared their throat as they adjusted their tie. "Are you on break?"

"Yup." Marlene shrugged as gracelessly as Cloud. "It's spring break, but I still need to work on my thesis." There she paused, her head tilted as her smile became keen and a little mischievous. "I don't suppose I can sweet talk you into giving me some insider's info."

"On what."

"I'm writing on the potential long term effects of the oil industry."

She knew it was a tender spot. Half the fights they had with Cid, Barret, and Aerith had been about ShinRa picking up the threads to double down on oil and coal. Understandably, the trio felt they were complicit in willingly harming the planet by rejoining the Turks. Maybe they were.

Vincent turned away and did not answer.

As they crossed the street together, Marlene said, "Buy me lunch?"

"Surely your parents aren't leaving you to a college student's diet."

Marlene pouted. "Daddy says it's character building."

"Does he now." Vincent moved forward to hold the restaurant's door open for her. "Do you no longer have him wrapped around your finger?" When she passed in front of them, they dropped their voice to a conspiratorial murmur: "Or is it that you're trying to manipulate my sympathies for handouts?"

"Is it working?"

"No."

Vincent glanced past Marlene, towards the counter. There, Tifa bustled between customers and servers alike, overseeing everything. She had not noticed them yet.

The door to the back room opened up and Aerith walked out with a tray of tea fixings and a sandwich. She strode over to one of the side doors that led to private dining, knocked, and entered. There was no way to know who she was serving but there was always the chance that it was someone who would not want to see them.

"...But I'll pay for your lunch if you'll ask Tifa to see me alone," Vincent added, as they backed outside.

 _"Coward,"_ Veld whispered, the first thing the voice said in days.

Marlene caught the door and leaned out. "Don't go far."

Vincent nodded, accepting both the judgment and the instructions. They slunk a little ways down the street to sit on a bench wedged between two large barrel-shaped planters.

Layers of colorful broad leaves spilled over the edges of the planters while tall, swaying stalks of small bell-shaped flowers bobbed in the breeze. They half expected to hear the flowers chiming some song that only faeries knew the meaning of.

Aerith probably picked out all the landscaping on the street. Vincent missed when she would tell them the meanings of each. That and her penchant for milkshakes piled high with whipped cream and a cherry on top. Yet more things they no longer deserved the privilege of.

 _"Mopin' 'cuz you're missin' out on some choice milkshakes, Valentine?"_ Cid guffawed. _"That's a new low."_

Their phone vibrated. Sighing, Vincent fished it out of their pocket and flicked it open.

As predicted, Reno flooded their inbox with nearly hourly texts, needling for status updates. Elena checked in every morning at 0800 on the dot. Tseng only texted once, with instructions to keep him apprised of the situation should it change before the two weeks vacation ended.

Vincent had no intention of telling any of the Turks just how much of a bombshell Veld left behind. It held the potential to end ShinRa and all of their careers if not turned over to their superiors.

The number attached to the newest message was not one Vincent recognized. It said: [What did you want?]

With their heart in their throat, Vincent tried calling the number. The line rang until the mechanical voice of the operator advised them to try again later.

[who is this] they texted back.

[Who do you think, bats]

[Cid?]

[What did you want?]

[to talk]

The message was marked as read but went unanswered. It was unlike Cid to avoid the opportunity to chew them out.

Vincent hunched over their knees, elbows braced against their thighs, with the phone clutched between both hands. They bounced their right leg as they stared a hole in the concrete between their black dress shoes. Their gaze kept zeroing in on an annoying scuff of dust on the toe of the left shoe. They were sure they looked as rumpled and out of sorts as they felt, which was inappropriate for a Turk, even one off duty.

"Hey, Vincent!" Tifa shouted from the doorway of the Seventh Heaven. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek and more dusting her apron. "Come in, the coast is clear!"

Somewhat mechanically, Vincent stood and lurched over to follow Tifa inside. Most of the customers and service staff had cleared out, leaving only a few diners finishing their meals.

Marlene had a big plate of pasta, an open laptop, and a number of notebooks scattered around the end of the counter. She waved a forkful in Vincent's direction, then went back to squinting at her screen and taking notes between bites.

"Everyone's gone?" Vincent asked.

Tifa brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "The lunch hour rush is over, so Aerith went with Barret on deliveries." She glanced towards the private dining room. "Trouble's behind door number one, but we can go talk in the kitchen."

"Trouble. Who?"

"You know who."

Vincent nodded. "He's who I need to see, actually."

"After all this time? Are you sure?"

"More than I've ever been about anything."

"You're such a jerk, Vincent."

"I know."

"I thought you were coming for a nice, friendly visit. You should come over more often!!"

Vincent tucked their chin, gaze downcast. "I didn't wish to... sow discord among anyone else."

"At least answer my emails, won't you? It hurts, not knowing anything about you anymore."

By way of apology, Vincent offered up, "I have a cat."

"Oh! What's its name?"

"Inanna."

"That's cute." Tifa folded her arms and bent at the waist to peer up into their face. She hummed thoughtfully, then rocked back onto her heels. "You'll pay damages if something happens between you and the Captain?"

"Of course."

Laughing, she reached out to shove at their elbow--the right, not the left. "I was joking!"

"I know. I wasn't."

"Well, your sincerity is duly noted and appreciated. Have you had lunch?"

"No."

"Then I'll fix you something, after the fireworks die down, if you don't run off."

"...I owe Marlene for lunch, too."

"She eats for free when she's home, you know."

Softly, because they were no longer certain if they retained the honor, Vincent murmured, "I'm not much of a _godparent_ if I don't pretend to be gullible once in a while, am I?"

Tifa huffed at them but she was smiling. "You've gotten the kids' thank you notes at hols, right?"

"Yes."

Even if Barret essentially excommunicated them and they were no longer welcome at family gatherings, Vincent continued to dutifully transfer funds to Marlene, Denzel, and Shelke for every birthday and major holiday. They saw Shelke at work sometimes, as she was a liaison for the WRO, frequently loaned out to ShinRa's tech and security departments. Denzel, last they knew, moved out to Junon to join ShinRa's fledgling space program out there, effectively painting him as a black sheep like Vincent.

The only reason Vincent stopped sending money to Yuffie was because HR cautioned them that it might be interpreted as a kind of bribery or an insult to send the Queen of Wutai what amounted to an allowance. She complained mightily about that, before the distance between them grew too great.

"Good!" Tifa clapped Vincent on the shoulder. "Okay, let's do this. Do you want me to mediate?"

"No, I..." Vincent drew in a breath and held it, though it made their chest hurt to breathe in that deep. "I have..."

Veld interjected: _"Maybe don't get them involved."_

"It might be better if you and the others stay out of this one," Vincent finished.

Tifa did not press for details. She only nodded and jerked her thumb towards the back. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need backup."

"Thank you."

After Tifa vanished into the kitchen, Vincent approached the dining room door and hesitated there with their hand hovering near the handle. They felt the crawling sensation of being watched but did not look to see who it was. Marlene probably noticed them standing around like an idiot.

 _"Can't teach a leopard new spots now,"_ Veld's voice chided.

Vincent rolled their eyes with a flutter of lashes. Then they opened the door, stepped through, and shut it behind them in one quick motion, before their nerves got the better of them.

Only one man sat at the long dining table. Cid stared at Vincent, mouth agape. He looked good, albeit older and in mismatched, ragged clothes worn far beyond their prime. The years of having every business attempt ruined by ShinRa left their mark on his tanned skin in the form of deeper lines on his forehead and around his eyes. It didn't look like he'd shaved or had a haircut in a while--scruffy, untamed bleached blonde hair peppered with silver framed his face and hid the growing downturn of his mouth.

An old corded phone sat at his elbow, the kind with a small screen that could do limited texting. That probably explained the unknown number _and_ the abrupt end to the conversation. Texting on that model was even more tedious than on Vincent's flip phone.

The remains of Cid's lunch and tea were strewn across the table in between sheets of paper pulled from a notepad Cid appeared to have been sketching in with a ballpoint pen. The top of every page was stamped with the Seventh Heaven logo.

In one corner, there lay a backpack and a heap of camping supplies. Both looked scuffed from long, hard use.

Cid caught Vincent looking at his stuff and shifted over to block off line of sight. "The fuck're ya doin' _here_?"

It suddenly occurred to Vincent that they knew less than nothing about Cid's current situation. Tifa made a point of never updating them on Cid. The clues before them spelled out an unhappy picture.

They clutched at the laptop bag. "Did you know Veld?"

"Heard he died a lil bit ago." Cid picked at cold french fries on his plate, glaring at the globs of ketchup smeared nearby as if they personally insulted him. "So what."

"Did you come? For the funeral."

"Don't see how that's _your_ fuckin' business."

Vincent grit their teeth against the old, familiar burn of irritation. Coolly, they said, "It was a black suit affair, anyway."

Something like hurt flickered across Cid's face, quickly replaced by red-faced fury. He smacked his hands down on the table hard enough to upend the salt shaker. Surging up to his feet, he roared, "The hell do ya _want_ , ya blood-suckin' ghoul?! Come to put your dick in all the holes ya made in my goddamn back, issat it?"

Vincent's gaze dropped to the metal brace on Cid's right leg. It looked dented and a little rusted. Another sign of the times, of the things they helped ShinRa perpetuate against Cid.

"Don't fuckin' look at me like that."

"Like what."

"I don't want the pity of no damn _murderer_."

"I don't give a damn about you or your idiotic gripes, Highwind." Vincent pulled the laptop bag's strap up over their head, then all but threw the thing down on the table. "Here, Veld's dying curse on me."

Cid stared at the bag like it was a live cactuar dropped in his lap. "You'd deserve it, bein' cursed."

"I don't deserve _this_."

Vincent turned away to cough into their fist. Wretched, wet coughs shook their entire body. Pain racked their lungs and made them hunch in on themself.

When the fit passed, they stalked over to the table to steal one of the sets of silverware wrapped in a napkin. The smear of red on the white linen gave them only slight pause. It wasn't unusual for them to have bloody noses and other such minor maladies-- it came with their gruesome transformations.

The look on Cid's face was inscrutable behind his scraggly beard. With visible effort, he lowered himself back into his chair. He snagged the edge of the laptop bag and dragged it closer. The whole time he handled both the bag and the laptop, he did so with the barest tips of his fingers, as if he thought he'd catch something contagious.

"How long ya been fucked up like that?"

"It's none of your concern."

"'Course not, I just wanted to know how long karma's been beatin' your ass black 'n blue."

"How long have you been homeless?"

"Fuck off," Cid said, pleasantly.

Instead, Vincent took the seat across from Cid. They delicately nudged crumpled scraps of paper to one side and the sugar bowl to the other, then swept the spilled grains of sugar off into a neat little pile.

"You're really plannin' on just fuckin'... bargin' back in like ya got any right." Cid glowered over the lid of the laptop. "Like ya didn't..."

Vincent flicked a bread crumb across the table. "The password is Chief, with a capital C."

Grumbling, Cid input the password. For the next several minutes, he pecked at the laptop in terse silence. Despite his appearance and his preference for picking at the keyboard, Cid had always been a savant when it came to technology. He needed no explanation on how to locate the hidden, encrypted files.

While they waited, Vincent looked somewhere off to the left and held themself perfectly still, barely breathing. They asked for neither updates or tea.

"...This a joke," Cid blurted. "Ya comin' 'round to gloat?"

"No."

"Then what the _fuck_ kinda croquet ya playin' here, Valentine!?"

"I'm not playing."

Cid slammed the laptop shut hard enough to make the casing pop. He shoved it across the table with a snarl, upending his mostly empty tea cup, the pepper, and the little pitcher of creamer. Vincent stared at the slow spread of white across the table. They barely batted a lid when it dripped off the edge and onto their pants.

"Spent all those fuckin' years trashin' my life up and down with your guttersnipe friends, recordin' it all and laughin' it up, then when the only one of ya with any kind of goddamn honor kicks it, ya come waltzin' on in to _gloat_?" Cid planted his hands on the table and leaned forward with his chin jutted. The anger in his eyes crackled like the razor edge of ice. "Ya still bitter ya weren't good 'nough for me?"

"You're homeless, Cid." Vincent's voice felt distant to their own ears, as though someone else spoke for them. "That laptop is worth more than your sorry hide, so try not to spill on it."

They should not have said that.

Cid picked the tea pot up and stared Vincent in the eye. With deadly silence and finality, he upended the contents of the pot over the laptop.

Panic struck like lightning down the middle of Vincent's head. As they lunged forward to try and swipe the laptop out of the way, an agonizing wave of pain followed, heralded by the too loud rumble of their blood rushing through their ears. With a wheezing grunt, they hunched over the table, clutching at their head.

Cid said something but it was lost under the growing roar filling Vincent's skull.

Their forehead split open horizontally. Blood spilled down over their brow, into their eyes, stinging. It dribbled down their cheeks, and since they were gasping and screaming, into their mouth. They choked on the coppery taste and in the ensuing coughing fit, lost their fragile grip on their sense of self.

With a crack, their skull broke right down the middle. The left and right hemispheres of their brain parted in a spray of viscera that painted the table and Cid's horrified face. The stupid man never knew when to run.

Vincent's body bulged outwards as bones snapped and muscles tore away from tendons and slithered into new configurations. As their neck, torso, and arms lengthened, a pair of insectoid wings unfurled from the meaty strips of their back muscles.

Their ribs popped loose and sliced their way out of their chest. The sharp, jagged points of bones splayed outwards and flexed, wiggling like centipede legs.

A thin tangle of what looked like vines or veins slowed their movements. The veins were dotted with small white buds and wrapped tight around the newly exposed organs, which trembled and stuttered to a halt until a thin layer of skin oozed over them.

Chitinous exoskeleton covered all the fragile, soft meat. It steamed in the climate controlled air as it hardened. As the wings dried out, they fluttered and unfurled further, forming a kind of cape at the monster's back.

With a triumphant snarl, Hellmasker clawed its way up from the heap of viscera and broken pieces of chair. Its two heads swiveled towards Cid.

After that, everything became a haze of red.


	3. almost gone

**[????]**

Vincent jolted awake to find their head--or heads, rather--resting against Cid's bad leg. The man flinched, then pushed them back down with a low grumble.

Breathing hurt and Vincent could not seem to get enough air, like their chest was full of holes. Their head swam as the edges of their vision darkened. They tasted and smelled blood with each weak gasp.

With a great deal of effort, Vincent tipped their heads down to squint at their chest. Their ribs jutted out, curled up like the limbs of a dead insect. The flesh between the bones was soft and slimy between the cracks of broken chitinous plating. The rest of their body was in a similar state, shriveled and twisted in ways it shouldn't be.

They made a weak attempt to pull themself back together, to assert their humanity again because they loathed being so monstrous. Blinding agony lanced through every nerve ending. Their whole body arced up off the floor, vibrating as if electrocuted.

Cid shouted and multiple hands pushed Vincent back down. It hurt, it hurt, every touch was like fire-- their flesh sloughed under the brand of the others' concern.

Later, when the pain subsided, they were left in a grey fugue state, distantly aware that their heads lay against Cid's leg again, and that Cid kept draping cold, wet rags over them, always changing the cloths out when they got dry and hot. It was more than Vincent felt they deserved.

Past the smell of blood clogging up their sinuses, they became aware of just how much of it caked everything in the room. The shredded rugs, the battered walls, and Cid's clothing were all dyed with it.

Tifa and Cloud picked through the wreckage with rubber gloves and boots and masks covering their faces. They piled broken up pieces of furniture in one corner and swept everything else into garbage sacks, even the questionably meaty lumps that probably came from Vincent's monstrous body as it broke down.

"Hurt?" Vincent croaked, in two voices. "You?"

Cid snorted. "Don't be an idiot. Just rest."

Reluctant, Vincent first closed one set of internal eyelids, then the other. The persistent pain made it impossible to sleep, so they merely laid there, unable to do anything else.

Cid kept changing the rags. He should have shoved Vincent away for all the broken promises and things that lay between them. As always, he was kind where he should have been cruel, just as he was cruel when he should have been kind.

Tifa and Cloud kept cleaning up, occasionally murmuring to one another. The smell of an artificial lemon fragrance and bleach soon cut through some of the blood. The combined stench became overpowering, worsening Vincent's dizziness. Weakly, they lifted an arm to try and cover their noses. Cid made a disapproving grunt at them, then covered the lower halves of their faces with rags.

Vincent cracked their left eyes open to blearily watch as Cloud stopped mopping to pry a long, stringy bit of gore up from between the floorboards. A bulbous chunk refused to budge and the rest snapped free to smack Cloud in the chest, adding more spatters of blood on his apron.

"Oh, ew." Cloud dropped the piece he held to swipe at his apron ineffectually. "I don't get paid enough for this."

"You're not on my payroll," Tifa huffed.

"I should be."

"You wanted your business to remain independent!"

"I could ditch, then?"

"You'd leave _this_ here for the kids and my customers to get sick from?"

Cloud sighed. Then he knelt to try and dig the gunk out from between the boards. From where Vincent lay, they could not make out what Cloud pried up.

"Huh, that's weird." Cloud paused and coughed into a fist. "Weirder than normal, for Vincent, I mean."

"What did you find?" Tifa asked.

Wordless, Cloud held it up for Tifa's inspection. She made a soft, "Huh!" noise with her hands on her hips and her head tilted.

Cid grunted as he wrung out another rag over the bowl of bloodied water that was no longer very cold. "Ya gonna fill the class in or keep gawkin' and titterin'?" 

"Looks like a flower," Cloud said. "Can't really tell what kind."

Tifa hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder if there are others..." She wandered around the room, pausing now and then to scuff her heel against the floor. Almost all of the gore had already been cleaned up, which left her little choice but to go rifle through one of the trash bags. "Ugh, umm... It looks like there might be more..."

"Maybe we should ask--"

"Nah," Cid said. "It'll just be a pain in the ass when she starts in on them."

Tifa clicked her tongue. "You're one to talk!"

"That's 'tween me and Valentine."

" _Well,_ it sure spilled out all over my dining room!"

"Nah-uh, just their fuckin' cookies."

"And a few nonessential internal organs," Cloud quipped, in that flat, slightly off-kilter way he had.

Cid cackled while Tifa groaned and shook her head hard enough to make her ponytail fly. "Gross!" she cried.

Vincent heard the slap of a rag being thrown down, the clatter of the bowl as it rocked against the floor, and the slosh of water and splattering as it spilled over the sides. Each sound felt like a physical blow against the inside of their skulls, echoing with an unpleasant high pitched tone. If they could have, they would have hunched in on themself.

Cid held his hand up and flapped the fingers. "Lemme see it."

Both Cloud and Tifa came to turn over their findings. While Cid dunked the gore-caked flowers in the water, Cloud crouched in front of Cid with his forearms braced on his thighs and Tifa bent to plant her hands on her knees. They seemed to forget about cleaning entirely in favor of morbid curiosity.

Vincent wryly mused that some things never changed. They could still remember the first few times they transformed around the others. There'd been fear and horror, of course, but almost everyone got over it quickly. Vincent's monstrous rampages were _useful_ , so the group developed systems for working around it. Now, it seemed old hat to be lying in a pool of their own blood, trapped inside the casing of a rotten form while their friends all gawked over the latest weird thing their body did.

If they could still be called _friends_.

Vincent couldn't help but look up at Cid, who frowned down at the wilted clumps of petals in his hands. Two of the fingers on the right hand were crooked from being broken badly. They couldn't bend properly anymore. Another thing Vincent could have prevented.

It happened before they fell out with Cid. An old security machine gone haywire crashed through the Midgar ruins and into a residential district in Edge. Vincent and Cid happened to be in the area at the time because...

Because they'd been looking for an apartment. With Cid. A whole day spent together like friends that sometimes looked at each other with too much interest did.

During the fight, Vincent had reacted too slowly to prevent Cid from getting pinned by the thing. His entire arm and leg had been crushed under the robot's treads.

Vincent couldn't remember how the fight ended, only that their own rudimentary healing skills hadn't been sufficient to keep Cid from longterm damage.

Things started to fall apart between them after that. Guilt ate at Vincent, as it always did, and they ached for a sense of belonging that waiting around for Cid's attention couldn't quite fill. Cid couldn't be slowed down or pulled from his sky high dreams.

In the present, Cid muttered, "These're pretty delicate. Hard to tell what color they were."

"They're red now." Cloud shrugged. "Might not be real, if Vincent was... uh. Growing them. On? _In_ themself."

All three of them turned to look at Vincent. They still could not curl in on themself physically so they withdrew mentally until one by one, the others quit staring.

Cloud clapped his hands against his thighs as he bounced up to his feet with a grunt. "Well, the mess isn't going to clean itself."

"Right." Tifa turned away, then paused. "Barret and Aerith are late. I should go check in, actually." She headed for the door, stripping off her bloodied apron, gloves, and mask on the way.

Cid rubbed his thumb along the petals of one of the flowers, then dropped them beside Vincent. They were small, delicate clusters that clumped together from the combined stickiness of blood and water. It was difficult to make out any other defining features when they lay just at the corner of their vision in such a sorry state.

"How," Vincent croaked, in their double voice. "Many."

"What?"

"...Petals."

"Uh. Six."

Vincent closed their eyelids. They knew not why their body had apparently manifested the flowers but they knew the meaning.

"...Ya gonna try changin' back anytime soon?"

"Can't."

"Yeah, figured. S'always like this." Cid scoffed. "Don't get any soft ideas 'bout me keepin' your ass from fallin' to pieces. We're not fuckin' cool, just can't have ya dyin' on Tifa's floor."

"No," Vincent agreed.

The two of them were not _cool_ , nor would they ever be. Not with the evidence destroyed. Not when even a simple conversation caused them to literally and metaphorically fall to pieces. Not when Cid had every right to be bitter and vindictive.

Not when everything was Vincent's fault.

Vincent coughed--just a little at first, then growing louder and more painful with each wheeze. Their lungs clenched and seized up. Their breathing whistled and rattled. Their world narrowed down to the knot of agony suffocating them.

Two pairs of hands roughly yanked them over onto their side. Someone smacked them on the back, right between their wings.

It knocked something loose in their chest. They felt it coming up their esophagus. In two more wet, racking coughs, they heaved it up from their left head. Blood, spittle, and bile splattered out across the floor. At the center of the mess lay another clump of flowers, still connected to long, fleshy strings. No matter how much they retched, they could not dislodge the strings from their throat.

Over Cloud's disgusted muttering, Cid hissed, "Holy hell."

It wasn't possible for Vincent to love the man any more than they already did but the way Cid fearlessly gripped the strings and yanked them out made Vincent feel such abject relief and adoration that they couldn't be sure the fresh wave of moisture on their face _wasn't_ tears.

The coughing eased almost immediately. Vincent sucked down air in great, whooping gasps. It hurt but each breath came a little easier.

"Think we ought to let her see them, Cid," Cloud said. "This is way beyond... anything we've ever seen."

"Shit--"

As if on cue, the dining room door banged open. Aerith filled the doorway, somehow imposing in pink just like always.

Behind her, Tifa hovered and wrung her hands, likely in the middle of a failed attempt to placate. "Aerith, please."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill them," Aerith said cheerily. "Would you mind getting some boiled water, snowbell?"

"...Sure."

Aerith turned her sunny smile on Cloud. "And Cloud? The first aid kit?"

Cloud took the hint and immediately abandoned his cleaning and the room.

Vincent exhaled noisily, resigned to their fate. The only blessing they could find in the situation was that there was no sign of Barret.

"I cannot _believe_ this." Aerith stalked into the room with her lip curled. The squelch of blood under her boots barely merited notice. "You come crawling back and the first thing you do is projectile vomit!"

Cid snorted. "If this is vomit, then they've been eatin' flowers."

Aerith knelt next to Vincent. She wore red pants a shade too light to hide the blood seeping into the knees. "Flowers?"

"Yeah." Cid picked up one of the clumps he had washed. "Dunno what the hell they are. Any ideas?"

With barely a glance at them, Aerith nodded. "Asphodels." She glared down at Vincent as she laid her hands on one of their necks and shoulder. "If you're _so_ full of regrets, why haven't you quit yet, you jerk?"

"Wallowin' in their bullshit like always, issat what you're sayin'?"

"I sure am!"

Cid chortled, then glanced down at Vincent. His mirth dropped away the same time as his gaze. He dragged the back of his arm against his nose and cleared his throat. Gruffly, he said, "Can ya get this numskull up, my leg's asleep."

"Sure, and then it's straight to the bath with you, Captain, and I _better_ see you at the dinner table. No running off!"

"Yeah, yeah. Tifa's already threatened me."

Aerith flexed her fingers against Vincent's carapace. "As for you... I think you should go see one of your turkey friends." She tipped her head to one side, tongue tucked between her lips. "Cissnei."

Vincent could not quite manage the questions bubbling up in the back of their throats. At best, they made a confused gurgle.

"I'm only helping you because your oldest friend says it's for Cid."

 _Veld--?_ Vincent thought it as hard as they could, yet still couldn't give voice to any legible words.

Veld did not answer--the real one or otherwise.

Vincent was not blessed with the same talents as the last of the Cetra, after all. Nor did they have the soul of a WEAPON bound to them any longer. Its connection to the lifestream was lost. They had only its cursed form, which eluded them when they most needed it.

"I don't want nothin' to do with this jerkass," Cid protested, a little too loud. "Or whatever stupid shit they're tryin' to pull!"

"Be quiet and help me hold them down. This might sting."

Despite his grumbling, Cid twisted around to do as he was told. The pressure on Vincent's shoulders ached, bone deep. They made no protest, only sucked in a breath and held it.

The materia embedded in the silver bangles on Aerith's wrists lit up. Like little green and yellow beacons, they guided the hidden energy of the lifestream to converge upon them. That energy manifested in the form of a dazzling prism of sparkles, too bright to look directly at.

Each particle of light struck Vincent like shards of ice, so cold it burned. They thrashed as the energy surged through them and forcibly yanked their body back together. Flesh, organs, bone, and exoskeleton all put itself back where it belonged, and then it shrank back down inside of them, one painful eternity at a time.

In the end, it took all four of them to hold them down as they screamed and screamed and screamed some more until their voice gave out. Tifa, Cloud, Cid, _and_ Aerith were all there to keep them from snapping apart and becoming something far worse.

When it finally stopped, they lay there in a trembling heap, human and whole.

One by one, Tifa, Cloud, and Aerith broke away to briskly finish cleaning up. They left the room smelling of cleaning product, with gouges in the walls and floor, but otherwise bare of all other sign of Vincent's rampage.

Like always, it was Cid who continued to hold Vincent long after the fit ended. Vincent curled against Cid's side, trembling fingers twisted in the frayed knitting of the man's sweater.

Time slowed to match the rise and fall of Cid's chest. Vincent drowsed, unable to help but take the undeserved comfort.

 _"Say it,"_ Veld whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"Can't keep doin' this," Cid muttered, against the top of their head. "Every couple years, ya come slinkin' back and I can't fuckin' say no like I ought 'cuz you're always so twisted up by all this shit... And it ain't goddamn fair, after all you've done. Or ain't done right by me."

Vincent nodded weakly. "It's not."

"That all ya gonna say, Valentine."

Reluctantly, Vincent untangled themself from the man they were and always would be unworthy of. They felt nauseous, light-headed, and weak of limb. Their whole body trembled, but especially their hands as they straightened the tattered remains of their tie. "Be where I can find you."

Cid shoved himself up to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. "Ya ain't got the right to ask that of me."

"Don't..." Vincent sighed. "Don't repeat my mistakes. Don't waste Veld's hard work."

"Already done, ain't it?"

"You knew the man. He'll have contingency plans."

With a grunt, Cid nodded. "The fuck was he hopin' to accomplish?"

"He always had to set everyone right." It took a great deal of effort for Vincent to get up. A great deal more to keep their legs from folding under them. "Especially me."

"What good's it gonna do _now_? I ain't got forever like you."

"...But you want to see the ones that wronged you burn."

Cid stared at them. Vincent stared back. A slow, mean grin spread across Cid's face, a ghost of the vicious, gleeful ones he used to have when he pulled off some wild stunt that everyone thought would get him killed.

"Ain't gonna stick 'round long. Got places to be."

Vincent nodded. "If..." They inhaled, held it, then exhaled through their teeth. "If you need somewhere to stay, away from the well-meaning annoyance of fussy concern..."

"Don't." Cid held his hands up, palms turned out. "I can't. Not with ya."

"Moss left me his cabin."

Squinting, Cid sidled towards the door, then paced halfway back. "Where at?"

"In the mountains outside Kalm."

"This gonna be no strings attached, no crawlin' through the windows at night for shit yanno I can't say no to?"

Vincent inclined their head with their left hand over their heart. They could feel the bumpy scarring even though their jacket and shirt. "I promise to stay away."

"I'll be here two days, Valentine." Cid backed to the door again. "Go do whatever bullshit ya think's gonna set your conscience at ease. Then come talk... without fuckin' trashin' another dinin' room."

Wordless, Vincent watched Cid leave. They waited for a few minutes more to avoid potential awkwardness, then limped out of the dining room with all the dignity they could muster.

Tifa accosted them almost immediately. "Vincent--"

"No." Vincent fumbled at their pockets and almost spilled their wallet out on the floor. A few coins clattered out and bounced away. "I can't stay. Not now."

"...I know. Let's meet up later?"

Hurriedly, Vincent fished out a prepaid credit card and thrust it out at her. "For the damages."

"You don't... have to do that." Tifa made an abortive gesture with her hands, then folded her arms behind her back. "Really."

A little desperate, Vincent said, "Please."

Sighing, Tifa accepted the credit card. She held it with the corners digging into her palms and slowly turned it this way and that. "It wasn't your fault, you know..."

"That's not for you to decide."

"It's not for you, either."

Vincent had no answer for that.

"Are you..." Tifa shook her head slightly as she seemed to reconsider what she was going to say. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

As they turned away, Vincent lifted their hand. They would make no promises, not when things were so broken up. Not when they could feel it, the old urges to say things they didn't mean, do things they didn't want to do, just because their skin crawled and every little gesture, every little word, every little look clawed at their most tender scars.

It was a relief to escape out into the cool night air. No one out there to see the holes in their suit or the blood caked in their hair and under their nails. No one to ask what they'd done and where they were going. No one at all, just them and their miserable thoughts.

Vincent stalked down the street with their hands in their sodding wet pockets and their shoulders hunched. They fumbled at their car door, then slumped into the seat with a ragged exhale.

 _"Two days,"_ Veld-or-Cid whispered. It sounded like it came from the backseat, though no one appeared in the rearview mirror. _"Better get a move on."_


	4. thought i heard

**[0023 · 04 · 18]**

*"Wake up,"* the voice that sounded like Veld said. *"Someone's in the apartment."*

Vincent woke face first on their bed. They shoved their hand under the pillow and closed their fingers around the grip of a small, slim handgun. In the next breath, they rolled from the bed and landed in a crouch, head ducked below the edge of the mattress to make themself a hard target.

No attack came.

Cautious, Vincent lifted their head to peek over the bedding.

Their apartment was small-- only three rooms. Through the open doorway, they could see straight into the combination living room and kitchen. The front door and window lay in plain sight. The only other avenue of attack was the window to the right of their bed, which boasted the view of a brick wall not three inches away, and a skinny slit of a window in the bathroom for ventilation. It was ideal for someone with many enemies and little time spent at home.

A red-headed woman in a blue suit stood frozen near the kitchen counter with a can of cat food in one hand and the food dish in the other. The yellow tabby cat wound between her legs, alternating between loud purrs and whiny wails.

Flicking the safety on, Vincent rose to their feet. They did not stow the gun and instead held it loosely near their leg. "Cissnei."

"I thought you were going to be out for longer," she said. "Away, I mean."

"...Complications arose."

Cissnei glanced down, at Vincent's all but ruined suit. "Should I leave?"

"No. You're just the person I needed to see."

"Alright." She finally knelt to feed the cat, then rose to dispose of the can and wash her hands. "I'll go get some breakfast, then, give you a minute to freshen up."

"...Thank you."

"Any requests?"

"What was Veld's last?"

"Hmm, I wonder?" Tapping her finger against her cheek as she smiled, Cissnei tilted her head. Then she headed for the door, producing the heavy keyring that would let her past all of Vincent's locks. It barely jangled, there were so many keys packed on it. "I'll be back."

After the door clicked shut behind her, Vincent crossed the apartment to throw all the locks so she wouldn't have to. They then slumped against the door with their forehead pressed to their arm, and for a moment, they listened to the happy slurping of the cat and the tired thump of their heart. The back of their throat felt itchy and dry. Swallowing did nothing to alleviate it.

*Get it together.* Not Veld's voice, nor Cid's. Just their own, small and quiet and oh, so tired.

Vincent straightened and slunk to the bathroom to get scrubbed up. They stripped down and chucked their ruined clothes into the trash bin under the sink, then climbed into the shower.

When they returned the night before, they'd been too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed. The bedding would need changing-- or tossed, like the suit. Normally, they would put it off but it looked like their plans to stay over at Veld's cabin were likely dashed. Cid made it clear enough that Vincent was to stay away if he made use of it.

Under the spray of slightly too hot water, with their skin and heart burning, Vincent briefly entertained the notion of what it could be like, in another lifetime, if they had not chosen the suit.

Would Veld have welcomed Vincent back as an old friend if they no longer shared the bonds of obligation? Could Vincent have stopped ShinRa and the other Turks from taking one piece at a time out of Cid? Would the two of them have stood together at Veld's funeral and then gone back to his cabin to reminisce together?

All useless thoughts.

The itch at their throat worsened. Vincent turned their face up, mouth opened to catch water. Gargling and spitting only made the sensation worse.

It felt like a lump formed in the back of their throat, as though they were on the verge of tears. Soon, their breath came out in a reedy whistle. They bent and coughed and choked trying to breathe and felt the lump *move*. The coughing worsened, shaking them so hard they had to cling to the bath shelf to keep from falling.

Something thick and gummy dislodged itself from their throat. They spat up a red wad of mucus with one last barking cough. The thing splatted on the floor. Water washed away the blood and snot, revealing wilted flowers.

Wheezing, Vincent reached up to pull at the tacky string of vine-like threads still clinging to their teeth and tongue. A few more coughs was enough to get the remaining remnants of vines out. They gargled more water until the taste of blood faded.

Anyone else would have felt more than irritation about spitting flowers up. Vincent felt resigned to it. There was no way of knowing just *what* Hojo did to them in that lab. While this was unlike anything they had ever suffered before, they only wondered what had caused it. Grief over Veld? Guilt? Both?

*"Asphodels,"* Aerith said, with such barely contained disgust. *"If you're so full of regrets--"*

Vincent smacked their fist against the ceramic tiles, adding another crack in the wall. As the pieces fell away, they leaned back to glare at the damage. There remained very little ceramic on the wall, with so many holes from previous fits of pique. It would soon be time to go to the hardware store for supplies to repair the evidence.

Laughing, Veld murmured, *"If only relationships could be caulked."*

Vincent snapped the water off and stepped out of the shower. "The damage is worse than that."

*"Nothing a little super glue can't fix."*

With a snort, Vincent swiped their hand across the mirror to clear some of the condensation. "Let me know when you find all the pieces."

After drying off and going through the motions of brushing teeth and hair, Vincent shuffled to the bedroom. Their lungs twinged with every movement, every breath. The cat decided she was done eating and came darting between their legs, yelling for attention.

"Wait your turn, Inanna," Vincent croaked.

Like the delicate little lady she was, she clambered up onto the bed to flop and watch them change into a clean suit. The very *second* they finished, she hopped up onto her back legs with her front paws outstretched.

Sighing with a slight smile, Vincent bent to scoop her up. She shoved her cold, wet nose against the side of their neck, purring loudly. That was where she stayed while they wandered through the apartment collecting wallet, keys, shoes, and belt from wherever they'd been thrown on the way in the previous night. She ended up in their lap on the couch and stubbornly refused to move.

Vincent, aware that they were not going to be able to put their shoes on any time soon, slumped to rest their head against the back of the couch. They closed their eyes and pet the cat until her purrs quieted and she dozed. Staying still helped ease some of the discomfort that came with breathing.

By the time the slow clack of locks announced Cissnei's return, Vincent's pants were thoroughly covered in cat hair. They made no move to get up.

Cissnei finally got the door open a full three minutes slower than usual. The reason quickly became evident: she juggled a bag that smelled of grease, a cardboard cup carrier with two giant cups, the heavy keyring, *and* the new addition of a bag slung over one shoulder.

She narrowed her eyes as she brandished the keyring. "You couldn't have helped?"

"I'm trapped."

Her gaze dropped to the cat. "Oh, I see. The lady claimed her throne." Rolling her eyes with a faint smile, she entered the apartment and bumped the door shut behind her. She headed for the kitchen. "Are you going to be able to eat like that?"

Knowing Inanna's penchant for trying to steal food, Vincent shook their head. "Probably not."

"Then I guess you'll need to disappoint the lady of the house..."

"Hmm." Vincent set their hand atop Inanna's head, then stroked it down the length of her spine. "I don't know if I have the will."

"I didn't go through all the trouble of convincing the chophouse to give me a senior discount for my dear old grandparent just for the food to go cold."

Vincent's estimation of the contents of the bag went up, as did their brows. "You got steak for breakfast?"

"Word on the street is that the Seventh Heaven is closed for renovations." Cissnei laid everything out in a neat row on the counter, all except the bag slung against her back. The faint pop of the paper carryout boxes opening heralded the mouthwatering smell of meat and eggs filling the apartment. "Neighbors got a different story about it being for family reasons." She turned towards Vincent and held her hand out to indicate the spread. "I can fill in the blanks, Vincent."

"And what are those."

"That it's one, not my business."

"Correct," they said, icily.

Unbothered, Cissnei continued, "And two, your metabolism is probably going haywire." She smiled. "So either get up and eat or... waste away under your cat's butt, I suppose."

"What a terrible fate."

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm a senior citizen." Vincent gently nudged the cat, to no avail. "And Veld's last request?"

"You're looking at it, though I assume your sight is not what it used to be."

"Anybody else know about this?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Nodding, Vincent picked Inanna up and set her on the back of the couch. She stretched and yawned widely in protest, then climbed down to vanish into the bedroom. No doubt they would find a mountain of cat hair on their pillow later.

As Vincent stood, they made a vague and futile attempt to brush some of the fur clinging to their pants away.

"Don't you have a lint roller?" Cissnei asked.

Recalling the bloody, yet effective use they had made of the last one, Vincent lifted a shoulder. "Left it at work."

"Likely story."

"I did not consent to being harangued by a grandchild."

Cissnei picked up one of the cups of coffee and took a delicate sip. "Seems to be a cardinal rule that everyone ends up with annoying relatives, whether they like it or not." She licked her lips and added, "Since you've done a fine job isolating yourself from one half of your chosen family and are likely to turn on the rest now that Veld isn't here to keep you in line, it falls to me to be extremely annoying."

Vincent snorted. "Good luck competing with Reno."

"I don't know whether to be offended or amused."

As Vincent took a seat on one of the stools at the counter, they recalled that Veld had once said he would have picked Cissnei as his second instead of Tseng had she been a little older at the time of his forced retirement from the public eye. He'd also amended that statement with, *"and if the job didn't revolve around trying to lead your dead horse to water."*

Vincent supposed they counted as the dead horse that day.

The food comprised of a heap of chopped steak, scrambled eggs, bell peppers, and onions in a pita with a side of tater tots going soft and cold. Vincent picked out a piece of meat and popped it in their mouth. Juicy and tender, with a kick of spice just the way they liked it.

"You didn't ask the neighbors."

"I didn't," Cissnei agreed. "The chef sends her regards."

"Thought our group overstayed our welcome there."

"Oh, I think she knows you and I are the sheep in wolf's clothing."

"Only if these sheep are killers," Vincent muttered.

"All part of the disguise."

"If you say so."

Vincent shrugged out of their suit jacket, then undid their cuff links and rolled their sleeves up. Since they had not put their tie on yet, there was no need to worry about keeping it out of the food. Their hair was buzzed on the back and sides but the top spilled down over their shoulders. Cissnei produced a plain red hair tie from somewhere, handing it over as she took another drink.

"Thanks."

"Mhm."

As soon as Vincent tied their hair back, they finally picked up the pita in gloved hands and bent to demolish it gracelessly. Ravenous hunger made it hard to slow down. Cissnei kept her eyes on her own food, no doubt well used to how Vincent could be about food after a transformation. She was one of the only ones Vincent ever allowed to see them like that-- if only because keeping Cissnei from looking after others was an impossible task.

"Is that enough?" she asked, after the last of the tots vanished. "Do you need mine?"

Vincent delicately plucked a napkin from the pile. "I'll get a protein shake later."

 

"Okay."

"What else did Veld ask for?"

Cissnei nodded towards the untouched cup. "Are you going to drink that?"

"You didn't really get it for me."

As Cissnei dragged her cup over, she smiled like a cat about to get the cream--which, knowing her, the drink was about seventy-five percent cream of some kind or another. The rest would be various flavored syrup with only a dollop of something that only vaguely resembled coffee. It was a kind of finder's fee for retrieving food. She got to use Vincent's so-called senior discount to get drinks that were otherwise too expensive to indulge in and they got to stay in and have food brought to them.

Only after the first sip of her horrible concoction did she pull the bag up over her head and slide it over the counter. Vincent half expected to find another laptop inside with another note. Instead, they discovered a thin lockbox, the key to which Cissnei relinquished between sips. The box contained a manilla folder full of photographs and scanned documents and an envelope with their last name on it in Veld's handwriting.

*If you're reading this, your cloud nine had a storm in a teacup,* the letter said, *And you went barking after the wrong tail. The easy way out is gone, Dog. Good luck. - Moss*

Vincent scoffed as they set the letter side with care. "That man and his damn malaphors."

"Won't you miss them?"

"I could ask the same."

Vincent leafed through the folder instead of looking at her. She was probably trying to catch his eye to engage in a silent battle of wills to see which of them would profess to an emotional response first. It went against their training as Turks to crack in front of others, even in time allotted to grief. Only Tseng rivaled the pair of them for maintaining a poker face, now. Even Rude had his tells, poorly hidden by his sunglasses.

"Well." Cissnei rose to her feet and plucked at her cufflinks. "If you don't need anything else--"

"A moment."

"Yes?"

The photographs were all clear shots of faces attached to basic single sheet dossiers on high profile figures in politics and business, all of them on the board of directors for ShinRa or with extremely high stakes in the company. The photocopied documents were signed orders, some of them partially redacted and some using code language to obscure their intent. Vincent understood what most of them referred to at a glance. They were cases he either worked on or collected data on at Veld's behest.

"This is it?" Vincent asked. "Did he tell you anything about this?"

"Only that I should trust my judgment, if you decide to act."

"I see." Carefully, Vincent closed the folder and laid their hand atop it. "You understand that if I act on this... it might not end favorably."

"For who?"

"Me. You. The Turks."

"You won't know until you proceed, will you?"

"...No, I suppose not."

"Are you going to want me checking on your cat?"

"I have someone else that might be more appropriate until this business is concluded."

"That's good." Cissnei withdrew the heavy keyring from her pocket and laid it on the counter. "You might change your locks, if there's anything of value here."

"Noted."

"Take care, Vincent."

"You too."

The click of the door shutting behind Cissnei seemed so very final.

Vincent curled their fist atop the folder and listened to the thud of their heart because none of their thoughts came together, none of their foolish imaginary voices chimed in. It was just them, sitting at the counter with the scraps of hope sitting between the remnants of breakfast.

The chance to earn redemption through legal channels was gone, washed away by spite and tea. What lay before Vincent was a list of targets.

Preparations needed to be made.

That was the thought that finally goaded them into action.

Sluggishly, Vincent got up to clear away the trash. Then they got out all the fixings for a protein shake. The noisy rumble of the blender brought the cat out, hopeful for a second breakfast. She wound between Vincent's legs, crying out. They ignored her as they drank directly from the pitcher.

After cleaning up and putting everything away, Vincent pulled their phone out. The instinct to dial Cid's old number was so ingrained that they punched in the first half of the number before realizing it was probably futile. They navigated to their contacts list to select Tifa's instead.

The line rang twice before she picked up. "Hello, Tifa here. Who's calling?"

"This is Valentine. Is Cid still with you?"

"Oh, Vincent." Tifa sighed. "He took off in the middle of the night, I'm sorry."

She sounded tired and well used to it. Vincent closed their eyes and licked their lips. More pieces of Cid's situation came together. There was no way the rest of AVALANCHE would willingly leave one of their own on the streets. Not unless Cid was being willful and stubborn for reasons entirely his own.

Vincent reached up to drag their hair loose from its tail. "Damn. Any idea where he's gone?"

"No. Cloud and Barret went looking, but..."

Of any of them, Vincent had the least chance of finding Cid. Yet, they thought they knew where to start. The truth lay in the way Cid reacted when Vincent needled about the funeral.

"If you find him before I do, call me," Vincent said.

"Okay, same to you, then."

"Sure."

Vincent hung up, then moved through the apartment to pack.

With practiced efficiency, they caged Inanna in her carrier, dismantled her cat tree and tucked it into canvas bags, dug out an spare, unused litter box from the closet, gathered up her food and bags of litter, and had it all packed in the back of their car.

Next, they scrounged around the apartment. From behind baseboards; inside cereal boxes, vents, the laundry hamper; and beneath cushions and the mattress, they systematically retrieved all their hidden weaponry. Guns, knives, flash bombs, grenades, and ammunition--enough to fill two full duffle bags. They left nothing the Turks could use against them. It all went into the trunk of the car.

What few personal effects they possessed were small enough to already be on their person at all times or else stored in a place no one else could reach, nestled in between materia clusters behind Lucrecia's final place of resting.

All except for one final item: in the very back of the closet was an old, battered suitcase. It contained the ragged red cloak, wrapped tight around their brass gold gauntlet, boots, and the heavy, triple-barrel gun. Three cartridges of custom ammunition sat at the bottom, next to a small tin case packed with materia.

They had not used the gun since donning the suit. Vincent lifted it from its holster and popped the chamber open. As they loaded it, the Cerberus chain swung and spun.

It was not a weapon for taking prisoners.

Vincent snapped the chamber shut. Like the click of the door closing behind Cissnei, the sound had an air of finality.

Two photographs stuck to the inside of the suitcase lid. The first was curled and faded from age. Lucrecia smiled, sitting on piano stool in the mansion, framed by sunlight. The second was newer, in full color. On some warm beach, a bare chested Cid stood on the wing of the *Tiny Bronco II*, grinning as he held his spear up with a trio of fish wriggling on the end.

Snapshots of when the world used to be right.

Vincent tucked both photographs into the inner pocket of their suit jacket, as if they could hold the memories any closer to their heart.

They shut the suitcase and hefted it over one shoulder. As they exited the apartment, they did not look back.

If Cid asked, they would burn the whole world down.

Even if he never forgave them.


	5. some wise men say

The late morning sun filtered weakly through soft grey clouds, though wherever there were gaps, it slanted through like spotlights. On the horizon, darker storm clouds gathered, promising afternoon showers.

Vincent eased their car into the cemetery parking lot. The second they shut the engine off, Inanna let out a plaintive cry as she batted at the door to her carrier.

They glanced into the rearview mirror at her. "Not yet, dearheart."

As she was a cat hellbent on having her way, she continued to make a ruckus. Vincent leaned into the backseat to pull the carrier cover down over the door. After a moment or two more of rattling about, the cat gave one last long wail of protest and then quieted.

Though Vincent disliked the idea of leaving her in the car with the window broken, they could see no other choice. They got out of the car and glanced around. With no funeral processions in sight, the cemetery was quiet. A pair of distant figures wandered the far side, perhaps searching for family among the stones. It was unlikely that anyone would come poking around the car.

Vincent headed up the hill, taking the most direct path to where Veld was buried. As expected, Cid slouched on the nearby bench, sheltered by a hawthorn tree about to bloom. His things lay in a pile under the bench.

They came around to sit next to the man with their hands in their pockets. "Cid."

"...Valentine." Cid tipped his head back, eyes closed, as the clouds parted to let some sunlight through. "How the hell did ya find me?"

"Just a hunch."

"What d'ya want."

"You told me we would talk, after I found what I needed."

"In two days, I said."

Vincent couldn't repress the twitch of their lip. "You implied that I *had* two days and that you'd stay at the Seventh Heaven for the duration."

"Most people'd get the hint after gettin' bailed on."

"I've never been any good at staying away."

Cid huffed. "Coulda fooled me."

"Let's not do this."

"Got every right to do whatever the fuck I want."

Pinching at the bridge of their nose, Vincent leaned forward, as though they had a bloody nose instead of a growing headache. They swallowed to try and reduce the growing tightness in their throat. "Are you going to let me carry out Moss's last wishes and do right by you or not, Cid."

"Even when the guy's dead, you're more worried 'bout him than us."

"*No.*"

"Yeah? Were ya plannin' on doin' any of this without his sayso?"

Softer, Vincent said, "No."

Cid nodded, as if that settled everything.

"Because I am a coward, doomed to self-sabotage." Vincent got up and paced away to stand to the right of Veld's grave, just as they had during the funeral. Looking at the man's real name engraved in stone made their eyes sting and their chest clench. "It's useless, thinking about should-haves. I cannot offer you the amends you deserve."

"Dramatic like always, bats."

Vincent spun towards Cid, fists clenched. "Stop being so dismissive!"

"Why?" Cid jutted his chin yet hunkered down on the bench like a turtle withdrawing into his shell. "What're ya gonna do if I go along with whatever ya got planned?"

"I told you already."

"Ya really gonna burn everybody? Even your buddies?"

"For you, anything."

"Even if I asked ya to do nothin'?"

Vincent inclined their head, silent.

"Only thing I ever wanted was for ya to put your fuckin' gun down." Cid scoffed as he got up, leaning heavily on the arm of the bench to do it. "There's no fuckin' way you're really gonna, not after all these years."

"No, what you wanted was for me to wait quietly at home for you."

"That's not..."

"It is. You could have found space for me at your side while you trotted the globe, had you really wanted." Vincent folded their arms with their hands tucked tight against their sides, balled up into fists. "You were always angry when I wasn't home to greet you when you got back."

"I was *angry* 'cuz the jobs ya kept takin' were fuckin' *dangerous*!"

"And yours was not?"

"Mine was makin' the world better!" Cid snapped. "Ya fell back in with your turkeys and started killin' people and their dreams!!"

"...Only those that deserved it," Vincent said, but the words felt hollow. They turned their head to the side to cough into their fist.

Cid stormed across the fresh grave, leaving tracks in the still barren earth. He bared his teeth in a snarl as he grabbed Vincent by the lapels. "*Andy didn't deserve that!*"

Vincent endured being shaken without resisting.

"She coulda done it, before ya came along and... fuckin'..."

The smell of smoke burned Vincent's nostrils. They clamped their mouth shut against the urge to cough. The sound of screams echoed in the back of their mind. There was nothing they could do to stop the ringing in their ears.

"I know."

Cid slumped until his forehead came to rest against Vincent's shoulder. His grip on Vincent's lapels tightened. "Ya never even fuckin' *tried* bein' sorry 'bout it."

"Not to anyone else's satisfaction."

"The hell's that mean?"

When they first rejoined the Turks, the ShinRa board had high hopes of utilizing their connections to AVALANCHE. That mission was the first and last time the board tried.

Vincent had failed to kill the target, yet had accomplished the goal all the same. Andy was not the first woman to land on the moon. She never regained full mobility in her legs and soon retired from the program entirely. The Highwind space program was set back by years, long enough that ShinRa could get their own projects off the ground.

There had been hours of counseling after the mission. Vincent remembered none of it making a difference. They remembered Cid's agonized expression, the shouting, the fighting, and never being able to make things right again.

"A get well card didn't seem appropriate," Vincent said.

Unable to help himself, Cid made a strangled, ugly sound of amusement. "...Bastard."

"Yes."

Sighing warily, Cid pulled away and moved to put his fingers against the top of Veld's tombstone. "The fuck Moss leave ya? Another laptop for me to chuck in a bath?"

"A list."

"A list," Cid repeated, flat. "Of what?"

"The names and faces of your enemies."

"That include your turkeys?"

"You know we're just pawns."

"...Yeah. Dumb asses with shit morals doin' what you're told." Cid shook his head. "Moss used to get goin' 'cuz y'all got backed into some fucked up shit no matter what the hell he tried."

"Sounds like him."

For a while, Cid said nothing.

The wind picked up, blowing the clouds closer together as it ruffled their hair and clothes. The sun vanished. Caught in that world of gloom, Vincent watched the man they loved make his final farewells to their mutual friend.

Then Cid hobbled over to the bench to collect his things. Even when Vincent came to offer help, he stubbornly hefted everything over his own shoulders and kept his distance.

"Show me this list," he said.

"...Alright."

Vincent led the way down the hill to their car. There was just enough room for Cid's things in the trunk.

Cid ran his hand along the side of the car as he moved around to the passenger side. "The fuck happened to your car, bats."

"Nothing."

"This don't look like nothin'!"

"No, it is nothing," Vincent said as they opened the driver's side door. "I couldn't bring myself to let anyone else touch it."

"Iunno if that's sweet or fucked up."

"Have you ever known me to be able to separate the two?"

Cid snorted and got into the car. He twisted around to squint into the back seat. "What's with all this shit, ya movin'?"

After getting in and starting the car, Vincent answered, "I was advised that my apartment might soon be compromised."

Inanna chose that moment to let out a plaintive yowl. Cid's brows rose; he reached back to twitch the carrier cover aside. The cat chirped a greeting and then batted at the door.

"Ya got a cat?"

"Her name is Inanna."

Flopping back into his seat, Cid yanked the seatbelt on. "What, like the goddess of..."

"Yes."

"Soppy shit. I ain't even got that spear anymore, yanno."

"I know." Vincent backed the car out of the parking lot and carefully pulled out into the street. Because their chest twinged any time they extended their arms out too far, they kept their fingers to the bottom of the wheel. "It seemed too obvious to name her Sydney."

"Woulda kicked your ass if I had to compete with a cat for my name."

"As if you need any excuse."

Smirking, Cid propped his elbow on the door, half leaning out the open window. "Where ya takin' me."

"The cabin is the safest place."

"Don't them fuckers know where that is?"

"They do."

"So?"

Vincent made a right turn, leaving the cemetery behind to pull onto the highway. "It's written into our contracts that certain places are considered sanctuaries."

"What."

"Business can't be conducted there."

"And, what, Moss's cabin just happens to be on that list?"

"All of his safe houses are, actually."

Cid scoffed quietly. "Ya never thought to make my place safe?"

Eyes on the road, Vincent said slowly, "Moss submitted the paperwork even before I joined. It was... lost in the shuffle. Your projects were too much of a threat to ShinRa."

"Shit."

"Mm."

"Where's this list?"

"In the glovebox." Vincent glanced into the rearview mirror, then sidelong at Cid. "I'd prefer it if you didn't throw anything out the window."

"I'm not gonna."

"You'll be tempted when you see the names."

Cid made a face. "The fuckstick president on there?"

"...No."

"Why not? Little bastard's the one that got this shit rollin' again."

"I think you'll find that the road to hell is indeed paved with--"

"--spilt milk."

"--good intentions," Vincent said. "Don't you pick up where he left off."

Cid grinned. "Got to speak of the devil to make matters worse."

"*Cid*."

"When pigs fly, you're havin' fun."

Vincent lifted a forefinger to indicate the side of the road. "I'm going to drive us into that ditch."

With a shrug, Cid said, "When it rains, it pours cats and dogs."

"Please just... find something else to do with yourself."

"I'd play *I spy*, but ya hate fun."

"The radio still works."

"A goddamn miracle!"

Cid leaned forward to fiddle with the dials. After a few false starts punctuated by static and garbled voices, he soon had some classic rock blasting. Just like old times, he leaned back in the seat and hummed along.

Though surreal to be thrown back to happier times during the drive, seeing Cid standing at the end of the dock down the hill from Veld's cabin felt stranger.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The lake was dark and choppy from the storm coming. Vincent wondered if they would ever see it clear and still again, as they had on so many long summer days while looking after Veld to ensure he didn't stumble half-drunk off the edge of the dock.

With the threat of rain imminent, Vincent hastened to unload the car, trusting that Cid wouldn't disappear into the depths of the water.

They set Inanna's litterbox up in the bathroom, her food and water in the kitchen, and her cat tree near one of the back windows. Though Inanna kept batting at her door, Vincent did not free her yet, concerned that she might make a break for it whenever Cid came inside.

Cid ambled in just as the weather broke. Lightning flashed, the thunder followed it down in an echoing roar that set Inanna to wailing, and then the rain dropped down in a thick wall that hammered the roof.

"Whoo!" Cid clapped his hands together after getting the door shut and locked up. "Got me out in the middle of goddamn nowhere on a dark and spooky night, ain't nobody gonna hear my screams."

"Murder is not how I'd prefer to spend my evening."

Cid squinted at them for a while, hands on his hips. "S'a bad idea," he said. "And I'm *old*."

"...So?"

"I ain't that good lookin' anymore, Valentine, all saggy and wrinkly and shit."

Vincent unzipped one of the bags of weaponry. They held a rifle against one shoulder and a shotgun against the other. "You've seen my scars."

"Yeah, but--"

"It is a bad idea." Vincent went to stow the guns behind the couch and under the coffee table, "But my feelings for you only grow with each line time lays on you."

"...This is why I said I couldn't have ya hangin' 'round if I'm stayin' here," Cid muttered.

"I can leave as soon as you review the list and a plan has been formulated."

"In this fuckin' weather?"

Nodding, Vincent continued to unpack their weaponry for stashing it around the cabin. Cid hovered near the door, watching and making no move towards the folder lying on the coffee table. He looked ready to bolt at any given moment.

"What's the gender of the day, Vin," Cid blurted.

Vincent froze.

Lightning flashed, lighting the whole cabin up. The power went out. The two of them stared across the room at one another in the strange, grey-yellow gloom of the storm. Beneath the ringing in Vincent's ears, they heard the cat wailing.

Years ago, in the weird late hours after a summer storm, Vincent sat on Cid's couch with some idiotic infomercial blatting away on the television. They clutched a beer in their claws, careful not to spill it on the crocheted afghan draped over their lap. Cid snored next to them, wrapped up in their cloak.

They nudged Cid awake, seized with a revelation that had built little by little over the years and finally spilled out as, *"Gender is entirely bullshit."*

Cid blinked at them, still half asleep. *"Huh?"*

There hadn't been any further explanation they could make then. They did not have the resources to articulate the feeling.

It took Cid about a week of asking around and pecking at his computer, with twice the tea consumption than usual, to give Vincent those resources. Gender was, as it turned out, entirely bullshit. A social construct to order the world into neat little categories, of which Vincent fit into only part of the time, just as they only part of the time felt human.

Cid took to greeting Vincent with, *"What's the gender of the day"* not long after. Then came the whiteboard, upon which Vincent rarely left words or doodles that could be considered genders. Cid took it all in stride and it became a kind of in-joke between them.

After their falling out, Vincent tended to avoid whiteboards.

Vincent swallowed. "...Do you remember what I wrote last?"

Frowning, Cid glanced off to the side, to the nearest window. "...S'prolly still there, collectin' dust in Shera's basement."

"Then I'm thirteen years of it being sorry."

"Sorry ain't a gender."

"It might as well be."

"No, that's just your dumbass way of life, always fuckin' it up bad and then slinkin' 'round with half-hearted amends."

Vincent folded their arms, beginning to hunch in on themself. Their lungs constricted with the imminent threat of another coughing fit. "...Did you bring this up just to start a fight."

"*No*." Cid slashed his hands through the air and jutted his chin. "Pick a new one, asshole."

"What would be appropriate for me to say."

"*Fuck* appropriate."

"Fuck it is, then."

Cid barked a laugh, loud enough to set Inanna off again. "Sure, whatever, that works. Ya gonna do somethin' 'bout that cat?"

"And the power," Vincent said, already moving towards the back of the cabin. "Go ahead and let her out."

The generator was in the pantry, way in the back in its own little closet. Despite the lack of windows, Vincent could see perfectly. They knelt to check the fuel gauge. Empty. The nearby gas cans were empty as well but the generator had a socket for materia, already filled with a green orb. Vincent tapped their finger against it, applying a little energy. Electricity crackled and the generator kicked on with a low hum.

The materia would hold for a few hours at least. They would need to periodically recast the spell until they had a chance to go get some gas.

When Vincent backed out of the pantry, they found Cid poking through the fridge. Inanna zoomed around, yelling as she explored her new space.

"Hungry?" Vincent asked.

"Yeah, ain't eaten since last night."

"That's what you get for running."

Cid made a face. "Don't tell me my business, Valentine."

Leaning against the counter near the stove, Vincent folded their arms. "If you decide to use that list, I won't be able to protect you if you run."

"Cabin fever or death, huh."

"Probably."

"What're ya gonna do if I refuse to look at it?"

"Ignoring it won't make it go away."

"Sure, but you've made it damn clear you're chompin' at the bit to haul ass onnit now." Cid shut the fridge door just in time to keep Inanna from trying to climb inside. "Thinkin' I oughta put it off 'til the mornin' at least."

"And where should I go, in the meantime."

"Go?"

Vincent just looked at Cid.

"This place a one bed joint?"

"No. There's a guest room upstairs."

With a nod, Cid stepped around the cat on his way out of the kitchen. "Sort some grub out, bats, I'm gonna go park my shit."

"Don't make me sleep in Veld's room."

"I wasn't gonna."

Because Vincent had not planned on having company, they lacked the ingredients for anything complicated. They decided to make a simple dish of runny eggs and chicken dripping in soy, fish stock, and alocohol over rice.

Inanna kept trying to help until Vincent banished her to the top of the fridge. She seemed unable to figure out how to get back down on her own.

While Vincent cooked, they heard the sound of the bathroom door, then the water heater kicking on and the rush of water through the walls.

When the food was almost done, Cid wandered out. "Hey, smells good."

Vincent turned away from the stove and paused. Cid had cut his beard off while he was in the bathroom. He'd also made a a passable attempt to trim his hair. The shorter cut made it more obvious that he was gray at the temples.

Despite the towel around his shoulders, he was still damp enough that his pale yellow shirt clung to his chest, detailing the lines of the tight undershirt molded to his body. Otherwise, he wore only a pair of boxers.

Age had done nothing but made Cid softer and more attractive.

Blinking as heat flooded their face, Vincent clutched at their wooden spoon like a lifeline. A bit of egg and sauce dripped from the tip, onto the floor.

"...Oi, bats, you're makin' a mess."

Clearing their throat, Vincent hurriedly set the spoon down on the cutting board and retrieved a towel to clean up. "The... food will be ready in a minute."

"Uh-huh." Cid cocked his hip, arms folded. "This joint doesn't have a table, so where're we gonna eat?"

"Moss usually ate at the counter." Vincent shrugged. "If you'd rather eat somewhere else, then I won't tell his ghost if you don't."

Cid snorted. "There's a TV over there, d'ya s'pose there's cable?"

Vincent motioned towards the entertainment center that took up one wall in the living room. "I don't know... but I'm sure you can find *something* to watch."

Humming, Cid went to rifle through the dead man's belongings.

Behind the eterntainment center's doors was a massive library of television shows across multiple formats, as well as the devices to play them. It was one of Veld's few concessions to a life of leisure best spent indoors as his health dwindled.

Running his fingers along the spines of movie cases, Cid declared, "Man had taste!"

"Sometimes."

Cid picked an old space opera set on a flourishing colony facing the looming threat of war. Though Vincent had never watched more than snatches, they recognized the theme song from the first notes. Veld frequently returned to the same handful of shows for comfort watching when he was bored with new offerings.

Vincent brought Cid's food over on a tray with fixings for tea. They set it down on the coffee table, then backed towards the kitchen again.

"Hey." Cid picked up the tea kettle. "Ya plannin' on joinin' me?"

"I assumed I should make myself scarce."

"Nah, c'mon."

"...Alright."

After rescuing Inanna from her perch, Vincent brought their own food and drink out to sit with Cid at the coffee table. Lacking anything else, they used couch cushions for seats.

Inanna kept trying to get into their bowls until Cid gave her a piece of chicken. Then she settled in his lap and went to sleep, purring loud enough to be heard over the TV and the rain outside.

As the pair ate and watched the charmingly bad scifi unfold, Cid kept up a running commentary. He made fun of the effects but had nothing but praise to say about the story.

Nostalgia warmed Vincent to their core.


	6. every dog will have his day

The rain quieted after dinner. Vincent stood out on the front step with their back to the wall next to the door, just barely sheltered by the awning. Water poured off the edge, splashing their shoes and pants. They nursed a cigarette and the warm, fluttery feeling of knowing Cid was just inside, dozing in Veld's armchair with a lap full of cat.

A lot still lay between them, some of it impossible to fix, but for the first time in a long time, Vincent humored the thought that perhaps things *could* be okay.

As they inhaled smoke, it occurred to them that their chest did not hurt. Vincent rubbed a hand against their side experimentally but it did not prompt any unexpected twinges. Neither did breathing in deep, holding it, and exhaling. No coughing, no hitches of breath. Nothing. Almost as if coughing up flowers never happened at all.

Not one to trust good fortune easily, Vincent wondered how long it would last.

The door opened, spilling light out through the screen. Cid's silhouette filled the doorway. Without moving, Vincent turned their head. They had the childish urge to flick the cigarette away and hide the evidence of what they were doing.

"Hey, what're ya doin'... out..." Cid's voice trailed off. Then he scoffed and pushed his way out the door. "That shit'll kill ya."

"Not sure it will, Ch-- Highwind."

Standing there barefoot with his hands on his hips and the door wide open, Cid squinted and tilted his head. "Uh-*huh*."

"Do you mind?"

"What?"

"The door." Vincent tapped the cigarette ashes off to the side. "I'm not eager to find out how poorly Inanna would do in the woods."

"She's passed solidly the fuck out."

Despite that, Cid still shut both the door and the screen door. Then he leaned against the wall across the door from Vincent, despite still being in his boxers. He tucked his hands under his arms, hugging himself as he stared out into the dark.

Cid could not possibly see more than a foot or two away from the cabin windows. He had no reason to linger out there, shivering and wet.

Unable to think of what else to say, Vincent blurted, "Aren't you cold?"

"Eh."

"...And tired?"

"Aren't *you*?"

"No," Vincent lied.

Cid gave them a sidelong look. "You're overthinkin' shit like always, ain'tcha."

"I don't how how I should act around you."

"What d'ya mean?"

"You say we're not okay, and that this is all a bad idea, and then..." Vincent lifted a shoulder, then let both slump. "We fall right back into old habits as if we've never been apart."

"Can't just let us have an easy truce, can ya?"

"I don't know how to do easy."

Cid laughed, nodding. "Me either." He jerked his chin towards the cigarette. "Ya got any to spare?"

Bringing the cigarette to their mouth, Vincent took a long, slow drag to finish it. They held the smoke as they flicked the smoldering butt off into the rain. The ember hissed out in the mud.

As Vincent exhaled the smoke out through their teeth, Cid looked at them like the distance between them--metaphorical or otherwise--did not exist.

And then it didn't.

Vincent blinked, mouth falling open, as Cid snatched them by the tie and yanked them down. Cid mashed their mouths together like he was going to die if he didn't. Helpless, Vincent surrendered to the demanding, bruising kiss. It wasn't very good, full of teeth in the wrong way and at least one split lip.

Vincent made an affronted noise as they licked the blood up. "Cid--"

"Sorry," Cid panted against their mouth. "Shut up."

The second try was better.

Cid let up long enough that Vincent could angle their head for better access. Then it was all lips and tongue and mingled breath and growing warmth. Cid kept simultaneously tugging at Vincent's tie and pressing them up against the wall.

Cautious, Vincent slid their hands over Cid's side and hip before settling against his back. They didn't dare clutch at him as much as they wanted to.

"Ya holdin' back on me?" Cid growled.

"This is... a bad idea."

"Seems like that oughta mean doin' it 'fore reason catches up with us."

"Nn." Vincent wanted to say no, they really did, but Cid was a warm weight against their front. They set their forehead against his. "...At least we should go inside before you catch your death."

"Already caught ya."

Vincent snorted.

A warm, giddy feeling bubbled inside their chest for how wide Cid grinned. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that was both fetching and charming. Gently, Vincent brought the back of their right hand up to brush their fingers from the crow's feet to the scar at Cid's temple.

"I don't... want to be the death of you," Vincent said. "I've done enough damage--" The familiar itch at the back of their throat grew bad enough that they pulled back to cough off to the side. Their voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "--haven't I?"

"Don't get started on your shit." Cid grabbed Vincent's hand and held it to his face to nuzzle at the gloved palm. "Comes down to it, I'd rather go in a way of my choosin'."

"...But not any time soon, surely."

"Nah." Cid backed towards the door, still not letting go of Vincent's hand. When Vincent did not move, he tugged more insistently. "C'mon, that cough sounds nasty."

"You needn't be kind."

"Just shut up."

Wisely, Vincent closed their mouth. They did not protest the way Cid squeezed their hand hard enough to grind bones, nor how he all but dragged them bodily inside. The pressure eased once the door was shut behind them even if Cid refused to let go.

As he marched Vincent through the living room, right past where Inanna slept in a tight little ball on the back of the couch, Cid said, "We got a lotta shit to talk 'bout, and your damn list, too, but listen... It can fuckin' wait, okay?"

"How long."

"Uh. Mornin', for a start."

"...Alright." Vincent squeezed Cid's hand. "You don't have to keep yanking, I'm not going anywhere else."

"Yeah? Where are we goin', then?"

"What?"

"Ya said ya didn't wanna sleep in his bed."

Vincent blinked.

It took them a full minute to process the insinuation.

"This is a terrible idea, Cid..."

Cid's expression and hand dropped. He folded his arms and tucked in on himself, gaze averted. "Ya really don't want to?"

"I."

Vincent could think of nothing they wanted more. The thing they missed most about Cid's company was his warmth hogging half the bed. His obnoxious snores were a comfort between nightmares.

The thing between them had never been given a name. While everyone else called them best friends, they skirted around being more. In the interests of keeping their affairs private, they skipped dating and settled into an easy routine of living together. It never progressed beyond making out and one-sided petting. Cid always bailed when Vincent tried to reciprocate or ask for something more meaningful.

They did not think they could handle the rejection. Not that night, nor ever again.

Before Vincent could even begin to try an articulate any of that, Cid blurted, "Sorry." He took a breath, then a step back. "I'm bein' way too pushy."

"No, I..."

Cid backed towards the door to Veld's room, all too ready to flee.

"*Cid.*" Vincent caught him by the wrist. "Don't be so hasty, damn it."

"Why not? Be a fuck of a lot easier and safer for us both if I go to bed and we forget all about this."

"I don't *want* easy and safe."

Cid opened his mouth, then closed it. He studied Vincent's face for a long minute. "...What d'ya want, then."

"You." Vincent swiped their thumb against his wrist. "But I can't... not like we used to do."

"Whaddya mean?"

"If you're going to kiss me like that, either finish what you started or go to bed alone, Highwind."

"Wh-" Cid's face darkened and his mouth worked like a fish out of water again. "You're serious?"

Vincent nodded, slow and pointed. "I wanted more back then, and I've never stopped wanting."

"What if... I'm not, uh. I'm just fuckin' not able to?"

"To have sex?"

"Yeah."

"Physically, or because you're not attracted to me like that?"

"Uh... mentally."

"What does that mean?"

"Means my dick machine's broke, bats!" Cid shouted.

In the ensuing silence, Cid pulled his arm free. He dragged his hands through his hair, tugging at it, and looked anywhere but at Vincent.

The hilarity of the statement hit Vincent belatedly. They snorted a helpless laugh into their fist, then coughed until they tasted blood. Nothing solid came up.

Cid hurried over to hover near Vincent's elbow, caught between concern and anxiety. He reached out like he wanted to clap Vincent on the back but never quite made contact.

"I'm sorry," Vincent wheezed, when the fit finally passed. "...Are you... talking about erectil--"

Recoiling, Cid yelped, "No!"

"Then what? Help me out, please."

"I don't have the equipment you're wantin'!" Cid slashed both arms through the air. "And I didn't fuckin' want ya to look at me like I'm less of a man, okay?"

Years after the fact, Cid's easy acceptance of Vincent's own struggle with gender finally clicked.

"Oh."

"Yeah, *oh*."

"Why would I think less of--?"

"Most do."

"...You never even gave me a *chance*."

Cid paced away towards the kitchen, his motions jerky and stiff. He alternated between tugging at his hair and the hem of his shirt. "I know! Fuck!! Mebbe it'd've driven ya off sooner if I had, and now I'm just old and ugly and my body's still wrong! I'm not... *Good* enough."

"Stop stealing my lines, Chief," Vincent said, soft.

"Ha." Restlessly, Cid dug out the tea kettle, filled it, and set it on the stove. "Do what I want."

Vincent rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand just out of arm's reach. "You never turned away from me even at my most gruesome..."

"S'different."

"Distress over the shape of one's body is different?"

Cid grunted.

"I have only ever been left wanting when you shut me out." Vincent eased a little closer, and when Cid did not retreat, they touched his elbow.

"...Same to ya." Cid sighed with his head down. "What a fuckin' pair we make."

"Mm."

"You're really not gonna let me sleep in the same bed if I don't..."

"Don't frame it like that."

"S'what ya said!"

"You know damn well what you do to me and why it's not any fairer."

"You're hot, okay, fuck, I *wanna*..." Cid made a vague up and down gesture, squeezing his fist. "But I couldn't... I was bein' a chickenshit."

"Am I allowed to ask if you can?"

"What, get off? I mean, yeah. I can."

"But not with me."

"That's not--!!" Cid huffed, then shook his head. "Fuck."

"That seems to be the problem, yes," Vincent said, dryly. "The great and terrible conundrum of fucking. To fuck or not to fuck, as it were."

Cid grinned, all teeth and no mirth. Some of the tension eased and he straightened, shoulders relaxing. "Yeah. Thanks a fuckin' lot, ya smarmy bastard."

"Just doing my part."

"Can we like... is just sleepin', no funny business off the table here?"

"Do you honestly think we can keep our hands to ourselves?"

"...You're really not put off." Cid gestured at himself with a broad sweep of one hand, incredulous. "By any of this? My age, my weight, the... everything."

"You've seen my guts rearranging themselves in real time, Highwind."

"Yeah, but that's... not your fault, right? S'just the fucked up shit that got done to ya."

Vincent tilted their head, frowning. Some of their hair fell over one eye. "I don't know if you've noticed, but age and assigned sex are not *your* fault, either, Cid."

The look on Cid's face suggested that the thought never occurred to him. Tears welled up, unbidden, at the corners of his eyes. An attempt to blink them away only made them slip down his cheeks. One fat droplet clung to the scruff on his chin before splattering against his chest.

The tea kettle whistled. Cid to turned sharply away to busy himself with it.

While Cid fixed his tea and his face, Vincent retrieved their overnight bag and made use of the bathroom. They washed up, brushed their teeth and hair, and changed into red cotton pajamas. As always, they kept their gloves on. The sight of the twisted, scarred flesh of their left hand would never stop paining them.

By the time they came back out to the central room, Cid had set the tray of tea fixings out on the coffee table.

Cid turned and paused-- his gaze swept up and down Vincent. Then he glanced away, rubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "Uh... Yanno, it's too bad Moss didn't believe in TVs in bedrooms, huh?"

"Watching television in bed is bad for you," Vincent cited, though the corner of their mouth twitched. Veld used to be a stickler for the strangest things.

"Never hurt me none." Cid shrugged. "Put my ass right to sleep so I ain't gettin' up to trouble."

"Hmm."

Vincent wandered over to lift the cushions from the couch. They held Cid's gaze as they lifted the bed part way out, then let it go with a clunk that startled Inanna awake. She made her objections known by leaving the room in a huff.

Tilting his head, Cid put his fists on his hips. "...Oh, huh. That's handy." He glanced from the bed to Vincent, brows rising. "Ya wanna?"

"My stipulation is the same: sleep or finish what you start."

"'Kay." Cid motioned with both hands towards the couch. "Let's... try sleepin'. Ya got a preference on what we watch?"

"No."

Together, they moved the coffee table out of the way, leaving it to the right of the couch. That way, Cid would be able to reach the tea tray from bed.

Then, while Cid browsed for something to watch, Vincent pulled the bed out and went to get a fresh change of bedding, blankets, and pillows. Since they knew from experience that the fold out bed was thin and a little lumpy, they padded it with extra blankets beneath the sheets. Cid's penchant for hogging blankets meant that Vincent laid out separate quilts for each of them.

When everything was set up, the two of them stood at either side of the bed, watching one another. Neither moved.

Inanna trotted back into the room from wherever she'd been. Judging by the particular high note of her meow as she wound between Vincent's legs, she'd done her business in the litterbox. She had no compunctions about jumping up onto the bed. Vincent watched with amusement as she climbed up amid the pillows to begin kneading.

"Fuckin' cat's got more stones than me," Cid muttered.

"We don't have to do this."

"I wanna." Cid huffed, awkwardly easing himself onto the bed. He had to use his hands to lift his bad leg up onto it. "I'm... S'been a long time alone."

Vincent inclined their head. "There's been no one else."

"Shit, bats."

Cid's face going dark as he glanced away mirrored exactly how they felt.

Gingerly, Vincent climbed into the bed and lay down. The desire to crowd up against Cid's side was strong but they kept enough space between them that Inanna could spread out there, if she wasn't busily making a nest out of Vincent's pillows.

Still sitting up, Cid eyed Vincent. He plucked at the hem of his shirt. "If this ain't the most fuckin' awkward thing."

"Never known you to quit just for that."

Cid blew a raspberry. "I'm not *quittin'*."

To demonstrate, Cid flopped down and yanked his quilt up over his head. He lay like that for long enough that Inanna abandoned the pillows to climb over him.

"Oi!"

Inanna's pupils dilated and she batted at the blanket wherever it moved. Her tail whipped about wildly enough that she even went after it whenever she saw it out of the corner of her eye.

Laughing, Cid lowered the edge far enough that only his eyes were visible. He wiggled his hand beneath the blanket and Inanna pounced. "Your cat's a damn terror."

"Sometimes." Vincent cautiously shifted a little closer as they drew their own blanket up to their shoulders. "If she bothers you--"

"Nah. S'fine."

Cid continued to tease the cat by running his hands back and forth beneath the blanket. She chased every little movement, flopping and rolling and pouncing. Any time she caught his fingers, she mouthed at the folds of the blanket and kicked at it with her hind legs until he wriggled loose.

In the background, the TV played several old commercials. Eventually, the theme song of the movie Cid chose began to play. It was painfully familiar.

Vincent glanced sidelong at the TV in time to see the logo. Cheesy font dripped with cartoonishly bright red blood before fading away to a scene of a dark, moonlit night. A frightened teenager ran along the path, clutching a flashlight.

In the years after Meteorfall, society picked itself up bit by bit. Movies were one of the first forms of luxury entertainment to make a comeback, and horror was the most popular genre.

Vincent remembered reluctantly going to see this movie with Cid. They'd gone to one of the late night showings, when no one else was around, and sat at the very back of the theater. Neither the movie nor the snacks had been good enough to keep their attention off one another.

"Trying to evoke a particular feeling here, Cid?"

"...Wh- *no*." Despite his protest, Cid's smile didn't fade. "Figured I'd pick somethin' nostalgic. Ya want somethin' else?"

"No, it's fine."

Inanna let out a loud, distressed wail and sprang from the bed about the same time the masked murderer cornered the frightened teen on the screen and murdered them in a gruesome spray of blood and high pitched screaming.

Cid propped himself up on his elbows. "...She okay?"

"You've wound her up." Vincent shifted their pillows around to get more comfortable. "She'll be back."

The cat raced back and forth, yowling. Now and then, she skidded to a stop to stare up at Cid or Vincent. When either noticed her, she chirped and went skittering off with her back arched and her tail high.

Inanna's antics continued well into the scenes introducing the cast of adults pretending to be teenagers. When she realized neither man intended to play with her, she took to scrambling up the side of the couch to sprint from one end to the other, launching herself off onto the armchair hard enough to make it rock, and off of that to go scrambling across the floor and up the stairs.

"She ever gonna quiet down?" Cid asked.

Vincent sighed as they sat up. "Sorry. She's not usually this rambunctious."

Shaking his head, Cid wriggled to sit up. "Nah, s'fine, just worryin' 'bout the little furbag. Gettin' attached already."

"It's probably the sudden change of scenery."

"Real fuckin' understandable." Cid leaned over the arm of the couch to pour himself a cup of tea. "Ya want any?"

"No, thank you."

The sound of clattering and thumping came from upstairs, loud enough that even Cid heard it over the movie. They both glanced up at the ceiling. Vincent sighed as they started to get out of the bed.

A moment later, Inanna came bouncing down the stairs. She hopped up onto the bed, swishing her tail, and chirped as she clambered up to try and steal Vincent's warm spot.

"Now, listen," Vincent murmured.

She only purred at them. When they tried to nudge her over, she wrapped herself around their hand, purring all the louder.

Cid grinned over the lip of his teacup. "Least she's got the right idea 'bout what to do with ya."

"You're welcome to try." Vincent settled back down under their blankets, drawing the cat against their belly. "But I think you'll find the competition to be quite fierce."

With a laugh, Cid nodded and lifted his cup in a toast. "We'll see who wins by the end of the night."


	7. never mentioned

**[0023 · 04 · 19]**

Come morning, Inanna lay curled around the top of Vincent's head. Her weight made the pillows sink at an odd angle. She alternated between snoring, purring, and grooming their hair whenever it annoyed her.

Because of her antics, Vincent woke to the first dim strains of grey light filtering through the windows. They could not get up. Cid sprawled out over their chest, heavy and warm. He snored so loud that it felt like having a power tool buzzing against their ribs. A slow pool of dribble spread under Cid's chin, soaking through Vincent's top.

Trapped though they were, their heart kept doing little lurching skips, joyous and light. Flustery warmth spread over their cheeks and down their neck and a powerful wave of nostalgia made their gut tighten with anticipation. If Cid did not wake soon, Vincent feared they might make a fool of themself with tears.

It was all too much-- and undeserved, too.

With that one thought, Vincent's heart sank like a stone. Their throat closed up, burning, and the tears came along with a harsh, racking cough that startled both cat and man awake.

While the cat scrambled off to hide under the coffee table, Cid propped himself up on his hands, blinking sleepily. "Wh-- Vin? Y... Ya okay?"

Disentangling themself from the blankets, Vincent jerked their head back and forth between coughs. They swung their legs around to plant their feet on the floor and bent over their knees.

Wretched, hacking coughs shook their whole body. Pain wrapped tight around their lungs. Air seemed a distant, painful concept, lost behind a slowly thickening black fog. Something solid wedged in the back of their throat and refused to move. Their coughs became quiet, raspy things as they choked.

"Shit, Vin!" Cid smacked his fist against their back, hard.

The thing stuck in Vincent's throat rattled loose. With one last jolt, the whole ugly wad of blood and flowers shot out of their mouth. It splattered across the floor in front of the armchair.

Relief did not make the scratchy, ragged feeling at the back of Vincent's throat ease. They kept right on coughing up more blood and more little pieces--petals and vines and whole chunks of flesh. It all spilled out over their fists, down their front, and onto the floor between their feet. Eventually, nothing came up but clear spittle.

Cid laid his hands against their back. The weight grounded Vincent and made it easier to ride out the rest of the fit. They slouched as he began to rub the tension away, murmuring soothing nonsense.

"Fuck, bats, that's..." Cid leaned against Vincent's back, his forehead bumping against their shoulder. "You're really... some kinda sick?"

Unable to do much more than grunt, Vincent said nothing.

"Listen, why don'tcha go get cleaned up, and I'll take care of this mess and fix some breakfast?" A pause. "Ya need help? Gettin' up, I mean."

Vincent shook their head, just slightly. The effort to get up on their feet left them swaying. The whole world seemed to rock back and forth and they fought against gravity to stay upright.

Behind them, the rustle and clatter of the mattress announced how quick Cid scrambled out of the bed. He hobbled around to grab Vincent by the elbow. Helpless, Vincent leaned against him until the vertigo eased.

"Sorry."

"Pssht, s'fine, bats. C'mon."

Together, they limped to the bathroom.

Sweat beaded Cid's brow and there was a pinched expression on his face. He seemed not to be able to put much weight on his leg, and the lack of a brace made his gait more uneven. Every time Vincent tried to pull away, Cid's grip tightened. Just as well-- their legs were like jelly, threatening to fold at any moment.

"What a fuckin' pair we make," Cid muttered, as he left Vincent propped up against the bathroom sink. "Ya gonna be able to handle a shower on your own?"

"Probably."

With a firm nod, Cid backed towards the door. "Right. Leave the door open, gimme a shout if ya need."

"...Cid."

"Yeah?"

Vincent swallowed and plucked at the buttons of their shirt. The dark stains of blood barely stood out on the red cotton. "Thank you." They took a breath. "For being kind."

"Pssht. Don't say it like I'm just bein' *nice* 'cuz I want somethin'."

"...Do you?"

"What?"

"Want something."

"Ya just fuckin' coughed up a lung!" Cid flapped his arms, beginning to glare. He had to make a grab for the doorframe to keep his balance. "Like hell I want anything but knowin' that you're gonna be okay!"

"Most would think of this as karma..."

Cid snorted. "Yeah, well, ya wanna make a go of fixin' us, I'd like ya to not be dyin' on me 'fore it pans out."

"I won't die."

"*Good*. Get your ass cleaned up."

With that, Cid stumped off.

Vincent waited until he was out of sight before stripping down to their underwear. They left their pajamas draped over the toilet lid, unsure whether the stains could be dealt with.

The face that stared back at them in the mirror was paler and more haggard than usual. The addition of blood smeared down their chin and neck only made them look worse.

They bent to wash their face, then brushed their teeth. The sound of running water echoed, loud, tinny, and horrible. The thought of enduring a shower like that made their stomach twist up in knots. Filling a bath would take far too long. In the end, they settled for sponging off with a washcloth.

Cid checked on them twice, staying to the side of the door where he couldn't see anything as he called out to see if they were "still alive" or had "cracked their fuckin' gourd on the toilet".

Thinking about how it was far more concern than they deserved made their throat and chest tight.

Resolutely, Vincent pushed those sour, melancholy thoughts away to focus on dressing. As they were still on vacation--and perhaps never to don the Turk suit again--they pulled on simple black slacks and a dark red turtleneck sweater. Clean clothes alleviated some of the grimy, sickly feeling that lingered. As did pulling their gloves back on, effectively hiding every inch of skin but their face.

The rich smell of food wafted through the cabin, drawing Vincent from the bathroom. They found Cid attending two pans at the stove, still in his boxers with his hair sticking out every which way but with his leg brace on. Two plates of piping hot leftover rice sat on the counter nearby and a kettle of tea waited on the stove's warmer.

As Vincent approached, Cid slid a lumpy, round omelette from one frying pan to lay it out over one plate's rice. He topped the omelette with a generous heap of sautéed mushrooms and scallions from the second pan.

"Already fed your cat, so now it's your turn." Cid handed the plate to Vincent. "Where're ya hidin' your sriracha?"

"How can you be sure I have any?"

With a snort, Cid wiped the empty pan out, then added butter. It sizzled as it melted. "Ya might be an old grandpa, but you'd never settle for eatin' bland shit. If it ain't sriracha, it'll be some other death sauce."

After setting the plate of food on the counter, Vincent reached above Cid's head to open the cupboard over the stove. Next to the sad remains of Veld's alcohol stash--most of it long overdue for the trash--were new bottles of sriracha, wasabi, and balsamic vinegar.

Cid clicked his tongue, grinning triumphantly. "Some things never change, huh."

"I suppose not."

Vincent got the sriracha out, opened it, and poured a generous amount on their omelette. They left the bottle and a spoon near Cid's plate, then fixed themself a cup of tea. Coffee would have been preferable but it seemed Cid hadn't cared to dither about with the press and Vincent didn't want their egg to get cold.

They sat at the counter separating the kitchen from the living room to eat while Cid finished cooking. The omelette contained minced pork, flavored with soy and ginger. It was a mellow, familiar comfort food that paired well with the spicy kick of sriracha. Cid used to make it whenever they had leftovers that needed using up.

"Really leaning into the nostalgia, Chief."

"S'not like there's a lot of options here." Cid shrugged as he gestured vaguely with his spatula towards the cupboards that were mostly empty. "I was hopin' your shit grocery shoppin' skills was one of the things that changed."

"I did not intend to stay here long."

"Ya tellin' me ya normally shop better'n this?"

"I'm rarely home," Vincent admitted. "So no."

"S'what I thought."

"And you? Have you learned how not to burn anything that isn't breakfast or steak?"

"Ain't a lotta opportunities for home cooked meals on the streets, Valentine."

"Ah." Vincent poked their spoon through their rice awkwardly. "Apologies."

"Pssht. Nevermind."

Cid finished his omelette and dumped it on his plate with less care than he had for Vincent's. As soon as he finished fixing his plate and tea, he came over to claim the stool next to Vincent, rather than the one further away. He dug in with noisy enthusiasm.

When he finished eating, Cid dragged the folder of names and faces over from the far end of the counter, sliding it in between their plates. A heavy, tense silence settled between them. The list spelled out the end of the uneasy truce between them and the beginning of the end of things let to fester for far too long.

Unable to conjure up Veld's voice, Vincent wondered what the man would say. *Get on with it,* maybe, or one of his wretched malaphors.

Cid took a long gulp of tea while not looking at Vincent. "So this thing's some pretty high profile targets."

"It is."

"How d'ya intend to do this?" Cid set his teacup on its saucer gracelessly, rattling glass against glass. "Ya go in guns blazin', you'll... become a target yourself, and the rest'll go to ground."

"The Turks may be under obligation to warn these people that I'm a potential danger already."

"...So it don't really matter if I say don't do this, huh?"

"It does." Vincent pushed their plate away and folded their hands in their lap. The left ached between the fore and middle knuckles, bad enough that they gripped at it as if they could repress the pain. "Either I actively earn my forced retirement or I passively accept it."

"I'm real fuckin' sick of bein' passive while rich jerk offs fuck everything up."

"...I am, too."

Cid nodded and smacked his hand flat atop the list. "Then we're doin' this."

"We?"

"I'm not sittin' pretty and waitin' for news."

"But you're..."

"What."

*A liability* would only hurt Cid's feelings and start a fight. Vincent settled on, "Unarmed."

"Ya got guns to spare."

"Hardly your forte."

"I was military." Cid scoffed. "Might not be able to pull off the fancy shit ya can, but I can hold my own."

"Not against Turks."

"Then I won't fight Turks."

"If you join this fight, they won't politely stop just because you refuse to fight them. They're duty bound to finish the job."

Laying his hands on the counter, Cid levered himself up to his feet. "Then I guess you'll have to finish it before they do."

"Is that the price?"

"Of what?"

"My penance." Vincent tipped their head to one side. "After everything I did to you. To us."

Cid stared blankly for a moment, then shook his head with a loud scoff, waving his hand dismissively. "*No*! S'far as I'm concerned, it ain't 'bout what ya *did* but what ya *didn't*. Lotta long, lonely years with ya standin' back and lettin' your turkey friends do whatever the fuck they wanted." He shrugged. "But I'm guessin' one of their own wouldn't've been able to make much more difference than I did on my own."

"Perhaps not. Inactivity still caused more damage."

"Listen, if ya'd been up front plantin' the explosives and puttin' bullets in my people's heads, I'd've knocked your fuckin' teeth out long ago." Roughly, Cid shoved the back of his hand against Vincent's shoulder. "But ya weren't. I saw 'nuff of Moss's hard work 'fore I went and fucked it up. That looked like someone on the inside makin' records where bigwigs don't want none."

"...It was. I didn't... understand why he asked me to watch, but I... I did." Vincent tucked their chin, fists clenched. "I know every one of their sins."

"And..." Cid flicked a corner of the folder to flip it open, then flicked the papers within. "...Ya know how to get it back so our defense is rock solid, when the dust settles."

"I... believe so."

"Alright. Then we'll go and sort it out."

"Cid..."

"Yeah?"

"I can't... I can't lose you during this."

"Not gonna." Cid flashed a grin, then pushed his hand up the back of Vincent's head, over the fine, buzzed hair there. "I can't do it again."

With shivery sparks radiating down the back of their neck from Cid's touch, Vincent tilted their head back. Their hair spilled over Cid's hand and wrist. "Do... what?"

"Still gives me nightmares, rememberin' when we sent ya down durin' that Deepground shit alone."

"...Oh."

"Yeah. Ya came back all..." Cid shivered and his fingers flexed against the back of Vincent's head.

Officially, Vincent Valentine disappeared for several weeks after Deepground and was found at the cave behind the waterfall by newly minted WRO operative Shelke Rui. That was a story told for the public's benefit so that they did not have to know the price of their safety.

Vincent remembered falling. Their body burned as Chaos's mind died. The WEAPON's shape sloughed away despite their desperate attempt to keep the wings whole. They remembered the impact of their body on the ground and the sensation of all their broken pieces twisted and split. It took a long time to crawl out of the ditch one agonized inch at a time, only to black out in the lee of a huge drainage pipe.

They do not remember how long it took for anyone to find them, nor how long it took for their ruined body to be put back together. Months bled into years. Cid stayed at their side the entire time, gruffly bullying them into recovery.

Watching Cid struggle through much the same after the incident with the haywire robot probably mirrored Cid's distress after Deepground.

"I can't, okay," Cid said. "Not when them Turks are just as dangerous. Maybe worse. If you're gonna do this, we're doin' it together."

Gently, Vincent twisted around to touch their gloved fingers to his mouth. "Copy that, Chief."

"Right on." Cid grabbed Vincent by the wrist and planted a kiss against the palm. "I'm gonna go get scrubbed up, then uh... I guess we roll out?"

Vincent nodded. "Say it."

"What?"

"The order, Cid. Tell me to kill them for you."

Holding Vincent's gaze, Cid picked up the folder and thumped it against their chest. "Put 'em in the ground so they can't get back up, Valentine, but not your turkey friends if ya don't gotta."

Vincent swallowed against the rising tide of adoration. To be allowed to offer his coworkers an out after so many years of Cid and the others telling them that the Turks were bloodthirsty monsters... It was more than they could have ever dared hope for.

"Get me whatever info we need to put the nail in this bullshit's coffin while we're at it." Cid bent to put their foreheads together. "And then we come back here and sleep it off."

"Understood."

Quick and mischievous, Cid pecked Vincent on the nose, then hobbled off. They sat there, frozen in disbelief, for several seconds after the bathroom door shut with a click. From the back of the couch, Inanna chirped at them.

Glancing sidelong at the cat, Vincent felt their face soften. "...I'm glad you approve."

The absence of voices in their head stood out starkly as they cleared away the remains from breakfast. They kept expecting Veld to say something about how easy everything was falling into place. How neatly Cid slid right back into Vincent's life, ready to move on if not completely forgive.

Nothing. Not even their own internal voice.

The only thing they heard was Cid's singing out of tune in the bathroom. It apparently bothered Inanna enough that she went to bat at the door and yowl, which made the singing break off into laughter. The very second the door cracked open, Inanna slipped inside.

"Oi, furball!" Cid yelped, but his laughter grew at her antics. "Ya coulda just waited your turn!"

Vincent dropped the dish towel they'd been using to wipe the counter down over the kitchen faucet. "Is she bothering you?"

"Naaah." Cid wandered out, awkwardly pulling a t-shirt and then a blue flannel shirt on. He had donned jeans and socks already. "But hey, what're ya gonna do with her while we're out?"

"...Ah. I intended to have you look after her."

"Yeah, well, this innit gonna be an afternoon job."

"No."

Without thinking about it, Vincent closed the distance between them to fix Cid's shirt collar. Cid stilled, glancing between their hands and face. They cleared their throat as they dropped their hands away. Their heart did a little flip flop at the slowly growing grin on Cid's face, enhanced by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"...Perhaps Marlene will take pity," Vincent made themself say.

"Oh, yeah! Kid's takin' vet courses, yanno."

"Is she?"

"Yup." Cid bobbed his head. He swept his arms wide, hands fluttering like wings. "Cloud and Barret always had that whole retire to a farm plan mapped out. With chocobos and shit. Guess she took it to heart."

"I *still* cannot imagine Barret on a farm."

Laughing, Cid bumped their shoulders together as he headed over to get his boots from near the front door. "Me either."

As Vincent's gaze followed Cid, they spotted someone through the front windows. A chill rushed down their spine. The person stood at the end of the drive, out of place in a dark blue suit. They were alone and there was no sign of how they got there.

Vincent retrieved a handgun from one of the kitchen drawers. "We've got company." They tucked the gun into the waistband of their pants as they moved towards the door to pull their own shoes on. "Stay inside."

"No way!"

Vincent frowned. "Yes way."

"You're not leaving me behind already, Valentine."

"I'm not." Vincent jerked their head to indicate the window. "That's a Turk. You said you're not going to fight Turks."

Cid opened his mouth but shut it as he glared out the window. Then he huffed with a sharp nod. "Fine, but you stay in my line of sight."

"Understood."

Although the cabin had been a sanctuary, the designation could have been rescinded after Veld's death. Vincent eased the door open, then stepped outside. The Turk at the end of the drive did not move. No one fired from the treeline. The only sounds were the birds singing and the faint rustle of wind through the branches.

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot breaking up the silence seemed far too loud, far too final. Vincent came to a stop some six feet away from the other Turk.

"Hello, Vincent," Elena said.

Vincent inclined their head. Elena stood tall and proud with her shoulders squared, her feet braced, and her hands folded behind her back. She glanced past Vincent, towards the cabin, then smiled as she fixed her gaze on their face once more.

"Enjoying your time off?"

"I was."

"I'm not spoiling it, am I?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

The corner of Elena's mouth twitched up but she managed to maintain her coolly polite smile. "I *hope* not. I only came to check on you. Cissnei expressed... concern."

"I'm sure."

"Grief makes us do strange things," Elena continued. "I thought I should come offer a shoulder to lean on, but perhaps you've already found one." Her gaze cut like ice as she glanced to the cabin. "He's not taking advantage of your hospitality, is he?"

"I don't see how that is any of your business."

Elena shrugged without unfolding her hands from behind her back. "Perhaps it's not. I thought you made your choice to be one of us, though."

"Not blindly," Vincent murmured. "It seems I was too complacent."

"Why now?"

"Because it was Veld's last wish."

"To see us all dead?"

"No. You can surrender."

Tilting her head, Elena narrowed her eyes. "Can we? Will your... friend let us?"

"He asked me to spare you, if I could."

That seemed to surprise her. She studied Vincent's face for a moment longer, then turned away. "I see." With a nod, Elena straightened her tie. "Then we'll do the same for him."

"...Elena. Thank you."

"Don't get sentimental, Valentine."

"Too late."

Finally, her laughter broke through the cool facade. Elena never could keep it up for long. She tried to smother it in her hands all the same. Her shoulders shook from the effort.

When her laughter quieted, Vincent said, "You don't have to do the job, if it comes up."

"Yeah." Elena brushed her hair out of her face. "Except I'm not the rookie anymore. We're going to have to fight it out." She tucked one hand into her pocket and pointed at Vincent with the other. "So don't think I'm going to go easy on you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."


	8. days get so long

As soon as Elena made her departure, Vincent returned to the cabin to find Cid waiting near the door with a shotgun and a grim expression.

"How'd it go?" Cid asked. "Are we gonna have to fight the second we leave?"

"Not until we make the first move." Vincent touched their fingertips against the back of Cid's hand. "We should go, before they have time to shore up."

"Agreed."

Between the two of them, they got Inanna and her things and all of Vincent's weaponry loaded into the car in less than fifteen minutes. Vincent made a cursory check of the cabin to lock up and ensure the place wouldn't burn down in their absence. Then they were off.

On the drive over to Edge, Cid borrowed Vincent's phone and debit card to get his own phone paid up. Unlike Vincent, he had one of the newer models, allowing him to freely browse the internet. He spent the rest of the drive going over the file and confirming the locations of their targets.

"You know we can be tracked through our phones," Vincent said, with a sidelong glance.

"Yeah, but they know we're comin'." Cid tapped the corner of his phone against his knee. "No sense in goin' in blind, not when they got all the advantages already."

Under the Transparency Act, all politicians and employees over a certain threshold of income were required to maintain hourly updates of their current location and activities. Nothing in the law kept the reports entirely honest and complete. Most hired PR to run their social media accounts for the purpose of maintaining a pristine front.

Vincent conceded the point with a slight shrug. "At least call Marlene before we get there."

"On it."

When they arrived at the Seventh Heaven, it was to find Marlene waiting for them on the bench outside. She bounced to her feet as soon as the car pulled up in front of her. Almost before Vincent shut the engine off, she leaned against the passenger door.

"Hello, uncles! Are you two getting along now?"

"Ain't plannin' on killin' *each other*," Cid muttered.

"I suppose that's a start..." Marlene sighed. "Well, let me see the kitty!!"

Vincent slid out of the car to help Marlene unload. They left Inanna's things in a neat stack just inside the restaurant, near the door. It seemed the place was closed for renovations, courtesy of Vincent's last visit.

In the interests of not getting caught up in an awkward conversation with Tifa or any of the others, Vincent retreated quickly. "Take care of her."

Marlene waved from the doorway, still holding Inanna's carrier. "See you later!"

"Yeah, later!" Cid leaned out the passenger window to wave as Vincent pulled out onto the road. "Don't wait up!"

As was her wont, Marlene did not go inside until they were almost out of sight. If she had not tattled on them already, she would probably go straight to one of her parents. It would be a miracle if their friends *didn't* try to interfere with the job. The last thing they needed was an all out war between AVALANCHE and the Turks.

Vincent glanced sidelong at Cid. "Where to first, Chief."

"We lucked out, bats, got a good cluster of these bastards gathered at the courthouse today."

"Did we?" Vincent guided the car out of the residential neighborhoods and out onto the highway heading northwest. "Security will be tight."

"How many suits ya reckon'll be there?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"How much of a threat Tseng has decided I am."

"So all of 'em."

Vincent met Cid's gaze in the rearview mirror, then refocused on the road ahead of them. "Not necessarily. He may have more faith in my loyalties than sense."

"Never struck me as the trustin' sort."

"Not particularly."

The drive over to the courthouse took about five minutes. Finding a parking space took three times that. For three blocks in all directions, cars were parked end to end. Picketers swarmed a designated protest spot out front. The Marines were out in force regulating both the traffic and the crowds on the streets closest to the courthouse.

Vincent turned away from the crowds with a low murmur. "Just how big are today's proceedings..."

"Ya want the full rundown?"

"Probably not."

"The bigwigs are takin' shots at the national preserves from here to Junon, among other things."

"Ah." Vincent eased the car down an empty alleyway and parked it between two large dumpsters. They would have to get out on the passenger side but the car would be hidden from view and there was ample room to get into the trunk. "An ill omen, then."

"Why's that?"

"...Aerith could be in the crowd."

"Oh, shit." Leaning out the passenger window, Cid glanced up and down the alleyway. "Should we check?"

"We might be recognized."

"By her? Yeah, I should fuckin' hope so. Don't really want her caught up in this..."

Vincent reached over to pluck the folder of names from Cid's lap. "No, by ShinRa's people." They flicked through the top pages; Cid had folded the corners down to indicate their current targets. "Given how tight security is... You should stay back on this one."

"Don't fuckin' start--"

"I'll need someone on the outside to bail me if things go south."

Cid blinked and shut his mouth.

"And," Vincent added, "You're right. We shouldn't get anyone else involved. You should see to it, when the firefight starts."

"How'm I s'pose to convince Aerith to go if she's there?"

Vincent traced their finger along the edge of a photograph of a gray-haired woman in a smart suit. She and two other ShinRa funded judges were part of the five-person panel overseeing the ratification of bills that day. Almost half of the list of complicit politicians and CEOs were in attendance, all of them with a vested interest in their own profits.

"I would appeal to her sense of duty towards others."

"Yeah? Ya figure that'll keep her outta the fight?"

"The safety of her fellow citizens might be a higher priority than fighting, yes."

Thoughtfully, Cid nodded. "Might work. So how're we doin' this?"

"If I change into a suit, I should be able to slip in undetected during the next recess." Vincent closed the folder; they had memorized all the names and faces they needed. "There is a coffee shop across the street from the courthouse, at the end of the block. You might be able to wait there."

"Am I gonna be able to see much from there?"

"The courthouse, yes."

"But not the protestors."

Vincent shook their head. "Not unless you can make use of the street cameras..."

"I'm not a miracle-worker, bats." Cid snorted. "I'd need tools I don't got and plenty of time to set it up beforehand."

"Then you'll have to deal with limited vision." Vincent slipped the folder into the glove box, then nudged Cid's knee with the back of their hand. "Shove over, Chief, I need to get out and change."

Cid climbed out of the car and stretched; his spine popped noisily and he groaned, bending to rub at his bad leg. "Doubt we'll get any kinda breathin' room after this, but it'd sure be nice. Could call in some favors, get the jump on some of these bastards nice and quiet-like..."

As Vincent slid out of the car, they could not resist brushing their fingers against the back of Cid's shoulder. They headed for the trunk of the car and opened it. "We'll play it by ear."

"...Yeah." Cid shuffled over to lean against the car by the front wheel, effectively keeping him somewhat hidden from passersby on the street. "Gimme a gun, while you're bein' indecent in public. Somethin' that won't stick out in the real fuckin' mellow atmosphere of hipsters and law students."

Vincent dug out a gray suit--not one of the ones issued by the Turks, but one used for the rare formal occasion when they were off duty. They dressed quickly, donning a bulletproof vest underneath their dress shirt and a pair of discreet over the shoulder gun holsters. Then they tied their hair back in a top knot to keep it out of their face.

Lastly, they loaded a dismantled assault rifle, extra ammunition, and smoke grenades into a briefcase. It would likely get checked at the door, but by that point, it would be too late to stop them.

For Cid, Vincent selected a small handgun with a large clip, something that he could feasibly pass off as being for personal protection only. They helped him put the shoulder holster on, ensuring that his flannel shirt hid it from view. As per the law, the clip went into a slot next to the gun and the gun itself had its safety on.

"Here," Vincent said, holding up a pair of laminated cards. "Concealed carry and handgun permits."

Cid took them and flapped them against his palm with a frown. "These don't got my name on 'em. That gonna fly?"

"As long as no one is checking too closely."

"And if they do?"

Vincent lifted a shoulder. "Tell them you recently got married and are waiting for the proceedings to conclude so you can get your last name changed."

"Oi, who says I'd change my name to yours?"

"Vincent Highwind lacks something."

"Yeah, a goddamn ring."

"...Can you afford one?"

Cid's face scrunched up, all humor beginning to fade as he hunched in on himself. "Oh, fuck off."

"No, you're right, that was cruel." Vincent sighed. "I was... going to lead into... how I would accept an onion ring. If I were at all worthy."

Cautious, Cid tilted his head back up, squinting. Then he scoffed, soft and amused. "Getcha one of them candy rings, yanno, the ones that're suckers."

Relieved, Vincent rolled their eyes upwards. "Ugh, too sticky."

"Gummy?"

"No."

"You're too damn picky, for someone who just *said* they'd take a piece of grease!"

"Yes, but at least I would enjoy eating it."

Clicking his tongue, Cid seemed to give that due consideration. "What would *you* gimme?"

"Whatever you want."

Cid grabbed their sleeve and gave a sharp tug. "Come back alive, starshine."

The old nickname struck Vincent right down to their core.

With a great deal of effort, they somehow managed to keep their voice steady and indifferent. "Is that all?"

"And *not* full of holes."

"That might be tricky."

Narrowing his eyes, Cid rocked up onto his toes to lean into Vincent's space. "I'm serious."

"I know." Vincent swiped their thumb along Cid's jawline, feeling the rasp of stubble through their glove. It was all too tempting to kiss him but distractions could cost them. "When is the next recess?"

Cid sank back down on his heels with a soft huff. He pulled his phone out and tapped at it. "...Uh. 'Bout ten minutes ago. They're goin' back in... Ya got three minutes."

Just as Vincent started to turn away, Cid caught them by the lapel. They blinked down at the hand rumpling their jacket, and then blinked again when Cid kissed them soundly.

"Chief," they sighed against his mouth.

He hissed back, "No dyin', starshine," and then kissed them again, all lips and only the slightest hint of tongue, there and gone, just like his grip on their jacket.

Swallowing, Vincent adjusted their suit. They licked their lips and tried vainly to will their heart to slow. "Understood."

Cid half sauntered and half limped out of the alley one way, hands in his pockets. He slipped into the foot traffic heading towards the courthouse and, despite his age, did not look altogether out of place among the students and protestors.

Vincent picked up their briefcase and went the other way. There were less people out on the back streets but they fell in with a gaggle of people in formalwear. No one gave them a second glance--not even the various Marines standing guard at all the major checkpoints at the courthouse. They were just another businessman among many.

The crowds merged and filed in through the front doors. The security in the entrance hall was much tighter. Marines lined both walls, holding their guns at ease. The crowd was split into three lines and made to turn out their pockets and to shed their shoes and jackets. Each person marched through metal detectors, then got patted down at the end before being allowed to continue on.

While there still remained six or seven people ahead of them, Vincent tucked their hand into their pocket and relaxed their posture. There did not seem to be any potential openings whatsoever. Their fingers closed around their lighter.

Vincent waited for the moment when the crowd shuffled forward and the nearest Marine's attention strayed. Too fast to be seen, they hurled the lighter through one of the metal detectors. It sounded the alarm, lights flashing, and the crowd broke out into noisy consternation and confusion.

In the split second that the Marines' attention was diverted, Vincent darted and wove through the crowd. Black shadows like smoke streamed from their back. With one mighty flap, they launched themself up over the crowd and soared over the metal detectors.

Gunfire popped the fluorescent lights behind them, narrowly missing one shadowy wing. Someone shouted, "Hold! Hold your fire, damn you!"

As Vincent tucked their limbs, wings and all, they hurled their briefcase at one of two Marines on the other side of the metal detectors. It snapped the soldier's head back with a sickening crunch. The Marine collapsed in a heap with a faint gurgle.

Vincent landed in front of the remaining Marine. She was too startled to react. All around them, the other Marines scrambled to get control of the crowds, unable to open fire while citizens were in the line of fire.

The wings dissipated.

Belatedly, the Marine started to raise her gun, finger squeezing the trigger.

Vincent surged up, drawing one of their own guns. They knocked the Marine's gun aside with their left arm and the initial burst of bullets tore a hole in the walls. At the same time, Vincent shot the fallen Marine in the mouth, putting him out of his misery.

In one fluid motion, they brought the smoking tip of the gun up under the other Marine's jaw. Her eyes went wide. She went rigidly still, no longer trying to fight.

"Please," she wheezed.

"Drop."

The Marine released her gun. It swung on its strap over her shoulder until she shrugged it off. Then she dropped to her knees, hands up behind her helmet, without being told.

Vincent kicked the gun far away. It spun across the tiles and smacked into the base of a potted plant. As they moved on, they stooped to collect their briefcase.

People in suits ran ahead of them. The smart ones dived into side rooms to hide. Vincent did not give chase yet.

The less smart ones wore the blue uniforms of the Marine corps and came at them with batons and electromag rods. Vincent hurled their briefcase low at the charge, toppling one of the Marines at the front. The ones right behind tripped.

The others kept coming. Vincent ducked and weaved, gracefully turning aside every attack. The Marines were not unskilled but they could not hope to keep up with Vincent's seventy odd years of training or their inhuman enhancements.

Vincent caught one Marine's wrist and twisted until the bones crunched. Then they flung the screaming soldier into his compatriots. All of the Marines staggered against one wall, shouting as they fell in a heap.

The Marines still could not make use of their guns but that did not stop Vincent. With brutal efficiency, they executed everyone, even the ones that tried to run. Bodies and blood filled the hallway.

Some of the Marines from the security checkpoint finally made it through the crush of bodies. Vincent shoved their gun into its holster as they turned. Somehow, the way they stood calmly in the middle of the chaos they had wrought brought the group up short.

Vincent spread their arms. The smoky wings unfurled like a banner, blocking out the light at their back. The wings solidified and the light became tinted with red as it shone through the tattered crimson membrane.

"Fire, fire!" someone yelled.

The roar of gunfire filled the hallway, drowning out the screams.

The bullets tore through Vincent's body. At first, they jerked and jittered from the impact. Then their skin split apart, exposing bone. The bones hardened as they came to the surface, encasing fragile meat in a hard armored shell.

Bullets ricoheted off Vincent's exoskeleton and went wide--one hit a light overhead in a spray of sparks; others smashed holes in the walls; another nicked a Marine in the arm and made the whole gaggle of them stop firing long enough to dive out of the way.

As the humans panicked, Vincent's body twisted in on itself as muscles rippled outwards. The chaos Vincent wrought overcame them; they doubled, then tripled in size, until the spikes along their spine dragged along the ceiling. The suit hung off their body in tatters.

One bloody, painful step at a time, Chaos lurched forward. It panted, inhaling the scent of prey and exhaling steam. Acidic ichor dripped from its maw. The stuff spattered down its front and on the floor, leaving pockmarked craters.

The monster threw one arm forward. The muscles stretched and extended, oily and viscous. Its claws wrapped around one Marine's ankle and sliced through the leather of their boot. Grinning, Chaos dragged its prey back.

The Marine shrieked and fired blindly. So too did some of the others. The bullets could not get through the plating covering the monster's face.

Death was inevitable.

Chaos yanked the Marine up into the air and grabbed their other leg. With a slight grunt, it ripped the Marine's legs apart, then split them right down the middle. The spray of hot blood, delicious crunch of bones, and noisy splatter of gore hitting the floor made the monster shriek, triumphant. It tossed the remains aside and dropped down on all fours. Behind it, its long tail swung fast and wide, smashing off the walls.

To the backdrop of a cacophony of fear, it launched itself into the remaining survivors.

The monster flowed like oil from one kill to the next. When it ran out of victims in the hall, it crashed through the doorways and into the side rooms and court rooms and hounded all the scared people in suits hiding under desks and in corners.

Those it did not remember from The List, it left behind, wounded but alive. The others though, those it delighted in killing slow and vicious-- pulling out their rib bones one by one, unspooling their innards and choking them with it, or twisting their heads off.

Nobody and nothing could stop it.

Two men and two dogs blocked its way to the largest of the rooms.

Chaos drew up on its hind legs to stare down at them, its wings tucked around itself like a cloak. Behind the pair, the rest of its prey huddled behind the upraised judicial dais.

The dogs growled, feet braced apart. Thick globules of drool dribbled from their droopy maws. They were good dogs, scarred from being used in fighting rings before their owner got them. Even wrapped up in the instincts of a monster as they were, Vincent was reluctant to harm them.

One man tugged at his gloves to adjust them, a habitual motion that revealed how nervous he was. His expression was otherwise blank; his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. He tipped his head towards his partner.

The other tapped a crackling stick against his shoulder, blank faced and cold. "Yo, Valentine," the red head said. "This is pretty low, even for you."

Chaos unfolded one wing, then the other. It braced the wing claws on the walls up near the ceiling as it crouched down into the red head's face.

Teeth bared, it hissed: "Move."

"Nah."

"...Then die."


End file.
